


Allured

by kyloewok



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Agonizing amounts of fluff, Associate!Vicrul, BDSM, Business man!Kylo, Cheating, Depression, Dom/sub, F/M, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren has a voyerism kink, Kylo Ren has severe Daddy Issues, Love Triangles, Mental Health Issues, Miscarriage, Possessive Kylo Ren, Reader-Insert, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags will be updated as the story progresses, Toxic Relationships, Who’s the daddy?, emotional/physical/mental abuse, loads of sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 42,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29341041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyloewok/pseuds/kyloewok
Summary: SEQUEL OF CAPTIVATED--Ten tedious months have passed since your skin was last caressed by the calloused hands of your complex lover, Kylo Ren.He was engrossed with his work in Chicago, and you, were a freshly graduated student from your strident high school; and you had been offered an internship with an infamous photography company in the exact city Kylo Ren had scampered off to.With the havoc of your bustling lives, would there be time to rekindle that flame of inclination and love that once set your worlds ablaze?
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Reader, Vicrul (Star Wars)/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	1. The Interview

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kylorensgf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylorensgf/gifts).



Ten months later...

Thick droplets of rain cascaded down the pane of the window poignantly, tediously slithering down the glass. The scenery beyond the window was naval, gloomy, the plains of moist fields were flooded with a river of apathy. As downcasting as the sight may be, it failed to irk you. The anticipation was too exhilarating to let it debunk your excitement. 

The smooth mechanisms of the trains twists and turns were nauseating and tranquilizing all at once. The antsy movements of your heels tapping against the durasteel floors and your giddy smile were filtering out all of the negativity of Poe; whom rebuked your aspiration, and still reluctantly agreed to accompany you for moral support. 

Chicago was only a few, painstakingly long hours away. Once the train had maneuvered through the quaint, smaller towns of Indiana, the only thing separating you from the windy city was this aggravatingly long route through the remnants of Illinois. 

Today, you had an interview with Rose Tico. She was one of the wealthiest, most successful photographers in not only Chicago, but in the entire country. She invested in a company that developed photos and traveled around the world with a recruitment of top tier photographers. 

The train had picked you up from Queens at eight in the evening. Poe nuzzled into you and snored thunderously in your ear nearly the entire trip, but you grew accustomed to the sounds after awhile. The sun had officially risen for the day, radiating its soft, amber glow along the grassy plains, reflecting off of the morning mildew sulking into all of the plantation.

After three more hours of bickering with your own impatience, the bustling city had come into view, hazy with a cloud of pollution as the train screeched and jerked, halting at the designated station. 

You nudged Poe softly, he stirred and grumbled nonsense, "We're here." You whispered cheekily, he rubbed the sleepiness out of his eyes and sat up leniently, using you for support. 

With your overnight bags weighing down your shoulders and the hurried staggers of your feet, you raced into the station, both of you parting your own ways momentarily to use the restroom, before meeting up at the grimy, slummy food court provided by the station.

Sharing a massive, oversized twisty pretzel from Auntie Ann's, you conversed about your plans for your stay in Chicago. Instead of staying for the temporary two to three hours the interview would take, you had decided to treat it as a mini-vacation, you had reserved a hotel room for the entire weekend. You were looking forward to spending this time with your best friend, without his boyfriend.

Although you did love Finn like a brother, the last time you and Poe had genuine privacy or solitude together was before they even met. It's been nearly an entire year since then. This trip felt like the perfect opportunity to rekindle your friendship and catch up on the characteristics of your commuting lives you've missed out on.

For the past ten months, you couldn't even reconcile on a moment you had genuine fun. Sure, the occasional parties with your best friends were enjoyable and an ideal distraction from your numbness. But other than that, you spent all of your time concentrated on your studies. Now that you've officially graduated and prudently so, you were free to explore the world and all of its proffers. 

Your mental health has improved ever since the bombarding boulder of education had been relieved of your shoulders. The occasional sadness would reoccur on nights you spent in a lonesome, when the frequent thoughts of Kylo Ren would resurface in your mind. 

Even after those torturously long months, not a single night passed by without the mention of his name, or the memorable details of his beautiful face appearing in your dreams. Your routine had become an endless cycle of eat, study, and pity yourself. Now, your schedule consisted of eating and barely sleeping due to petrifying nightmares.

The night terrors started a few days after Kylo left for Chicago. Repetitive, malicious dreams of that dull, stormy evening when he banished himself from your life and built a steel wall around his new one, prohibiting you from it. As of recently, you lacked the distress over him, and the dreams had reduced to a maximum of once every couple of weeks.

"You okay?" Poe chuckled quizzically with his mouth stuffed full, snapping his fingers at you fervently. 

You blinked harshly and nodded, another giddy grin broke the tension in your face as you snatched the pretzel back from him and tore off a piece, popping it into your mouth. 

"I'm good! I'm really excited," you beamed, heels clanking into the floor as they bounced with adrenaline, studying the scenery beyond the murky window.

Although the scenery of Chicago was similar to New York City, it was mellower. Quainter. It was still dangerous and overpopulated, you just referred to it as a serene version of the city you were born and raised in. 

New York was tolerable, or maybe you were just accustomed to the bustling streets and the over occupied city itself. Chicago was captivating, although it was about three times smaller than where you were originally from. It was astonishing nevertheless. 

"Are you nervous at all?" He drawled leisurely, furrowing his eyebrows. "You seem pretty jittery." 

Your gaze dropped to your legs, jiggling as you bounced on your heels. You chuckled breathily, "A little." You admitted, twirling a loose strand of your hair that had fallen out of your now dismantled messy bun. 

"Don't be." He waved an idle hand of dismissal, smirking and reaching out his hand to lay gingerly on top of yours. "You'll do great. I believe in you." He smiled reassuringly, thumb grazing your knuckles platonically, wrinkles forming around his rich, deep brown eyes.

"Thank you," you mumbled bashfully, taking another bite of your pretzel, handing it back to him. 

\---

The floral scent of Gardenias and the vivid smell of fresh paint flooded your nostrils immensely as you shuffled through the grand, golden trimmed archways. The floors were pristine and neatly polished, your flustered, timid reflection peering back at you as you approached the receptionist desk with deliberate, cautious steps. 

The interior of the upscale, primitive brick building, was astoundingly luxurious. The lobby was picturesque and minimally decked with modern, contemporary furniture. The colors were limited to charcoal grays and pearly whites, men and woman trudging around in neatly pressed suits and dresses. 

The receptionist offered you a warm, tight lipped smile as you tiptoed towards her with a coy smile back. "Good afternoon. Which agency are you meeting with today?" She asked.

You hummed to yourself, feathering a hand through your hair nervously, "Tico." 

She nodded with an amiable grin, her fingers dancing along the blocky keyboard of her computer. She shoved her silver, square framed glasses up the bridge of her nose as she typed another prompt sequence of words before averting her focus back to you. 

"Her office is on the third floor, her secretary will assist you." She chirped, taking a sip of steaming black coffee from her matte, stylish mug. 

"Thanks." You retorted hurriedly, practically skipping with enthusiasm as you approached the titanium elevator doors. 

The manila folder containing your background information was victim to your harsh, clammy grip as you harbored your breath in your lungs and stared at the red, luminescent digits depicting the proximity of Rose Tico's office. 

With the assumption she was brash and insolent, as the majority of wealthy celebrities and business owners were, your subconscious was taking precautions for you to avoid humiliation. 

The elevator chimed, a hospitable ding. You gulped as the doors whirred open briskly, slipping past the threshold. The secretary glimpsed up at you through her eyelashes, scribbling down notes with an ink pen before she settled in on the oak surface of her desk with a feigned smile. 

"Appointment?" She asked simply, shuffling through a stash of crisp paper. 

You nodded, hugging your folder to your chest. "Yes. For two-thirty." You muttered, tone light and soft, laced with your underlying distress. 

She squinted, examining the papers through narrowed eyes, before she clicked her tongue and nodded to herself, scooping up one of the papers. "Right this way." She beamed, springing up from her seat and waving you down a foyer. 

You hovered in silence, trailing behind her, eyeing the numerous pairs of colossal double-doors lining the wallpapered walls. She halted and you skidded to a stop. She tapped lightly on the door, and a soft voice called out, "Come in!"

She held the door open for you, you thanked her with a minuscule smile and a curt nod, instantly being greeted with a refreshing citrusy scent. The office was lavishing. 

The floor to ceiling windows allowed an impeccable, brilliant view of the city, illuminated by the afternoon sun. The furniture contrasted the rest of the building, peppered with vibrant arrays of cherry reds and ceon blues. An essential oil diffuser was radiating the delicious scents through a thin vapor. 

"Oh, hello!" An outgoing voice squealed excitedly, snapping you out of your trance.

Rose Tico was leaning back cozily in her chair, playing with the tips of her straight, black shoulder length hair. Her lips were tainted scarlet as she grinned at you with sincere ecstaticness.

"Hello," you smiled back enthusiastically.

She sat up and straightened her posture, adjusting the sleeves of her knitted cream sweater, gesturing for you to sit down. You followed suit and scurried towards the yellow, velvet ottoman placed directly before her desk, offering her your folder. 

"How was the trip from New York?" She asked delightedly, gently taking the folder from your grasp and flipping through the contents idly. 

"It was good." You smiled, fiddling with the hem of your dress. Even though the trip was extortionate and mundane, you knew the question was only meant for appeal as opposed to genuine interest. 

You discussed your personal interests with her, rambling passionately about your desire for photography. She seemed sincerely pleased with all of your responses to her precise and detailed questions. 

Her smile faded into a queasy line, eyebrows knitting together as she continued to read the papers inside of your folder. 

Your stomach churned. Suddenly, you felt your fingers tremble and your bottom lip quiver with your sharp intake of breath. There was one thing in that folder that could effect the results of your interview. The incident that occured with the school. When you and Kylo got caught. 

She opened her mouth, only to close it again, eyes darting between you and the folder before she tediously placed it back down on the desk, scooting it back to you.

She sucked in a sharp, quipped breath and clasped her hands together, "About the... incident at your—"

"It was a mistake, I was foolish. I've grown to become a mature person ever since..." 

Kylo's face flickered in your mind. The permanent pout of his plump lips, the curve of his roman sculpted nose. The hazel-speckles that twinkled in his black irises. The way his cheeks would be flushed a rosy rouge whenever you slyly complimented him. And his beauty marks. 

God, or whatever entity that guarded the gates of heaven; did you miss him. With every fiber of your being, every swollen, aching bone in your body, you missed him. 

And you couldn't just sit here and blame him for all of the mistakes you two made together, hand in hand. Now you were searching for anything to refurbish the emptiness that has overtaken your life ever since he left it to restart his own. Without you. 

Blinking away tears, you bowed your head shamefully, sheepishly. This was just perfect. You have already humiliated yourself in front of whom you yearned to be your future employer. 

"Awe, hun. We've all made mistakes," she began consolingly, you lifted your head to see her face displaying empathy. "Believe it or not, I've made mistakes of my own that could be perceived as worse."

You chuckled breathily, "Really?"

She nodded and hummed pointedly, laughing at herself. "Of course." There was a pause as she smiled to herself, supposedly reminiscing, before she leaned back in her squeaky office chair. 

"Will you be in Chicago for awhile?" 

You nodded, "For a couple of days. Me and my best friend, Poe, are heading back on monday." 

She rustled through a drawer, muttering incoherent words to herself as she untucked a notepad and scribbled a few words down. "It's the address to my favorite coffee shop down the street. I would love to get coffee with you and your friend tomorrow," she smiled, ripping the paper off of its pad and slipping it into your hands. 

"So we can decide when your first day will be."


	2. Acceptance

"Wake up, sleepyhead." You tugged on Poe's earlobe and muttered, he grumbled and swatted you away, tugging the sheets over his face. Between the auburn rays of the sun beaming through the thin drapes and your pinching fingers, it was infeasible that he would be able to stay asleep. 

"I don't want to." He groaned exaggeratedly, scraping the crust out of his eyelids with his knuckles as you remained perched beside his legs, playfully slapping his bicep. 

"I mean, you really don't have to come." You shrugged, before you yawned enthusiastically and sprawled out across his body, stretching your limbs as he chuckled and nudged you off. 

"I'm up, I'm up." He mumbled under his breath, shoving the covers off and giving you the finger as he trudged his way to the restroom. 

The hotel room was mediocre, luxurious compared to the majority of the bed and breakfasts scattered around Chicago. The architecture of the hotel itself was marvelous and authentic, decked with antiques. All you cared about was the free refreshments and unhealthy snacks that the room provided. 

Poe was on facetime with Finn as he freshened up in the restroom, combing his tousled hair and tugging on his ironed button-up shirt. You had unintentionally woken up extra early, basking in the serene glow of the sunrise. 

Kylo Ren had ruined the fucking sky for you. 

Even if it wasn't the sapphire moonlight and twinkling stars, you could envision all of the imperfect details of his charming face. His otherworldly sculpted body. His expressions and earnest personality. All of the things you had grown to treasure about him were barricading your glorious view of the sun. The solemn had numbed and been coated with rage. 

Your therapist declared that it was one of the five exasperating stages of the grieving process. First was denial, and a heavy, restricting load of it. You refused to believe that he had abandoned you, that he was gone, and there was still a minuscule part of you that wouldn't let that aspiration go. 

And then you were bargaining with your own sanity just to be granted a temporary escape from the agonizing pain, the loathing. Feeding yourself lethal lies, assuring yourself that he would be back, just to be left shattered and disappointed all over again. 

Now you were taut between acceptance and vexation. Forgiving and forgetting was a liable option, the simplest one for your whirlwind of harrowing thoughts. If you had closure, real closure, forgiving him would've been tolerable and forgetting would've been easier. 

Poe called your name softly from the restroom and you blinked rapidly to recollect yourself, rolling off of the bed and springing to your feet. "Coming!" You shouted back, scurrying through the threshold. The mosaic tiles were still damp from your shower, scattering your wet footprints all along the floor. 

"I'm ready." He shielded his mouth and yawned dramatically, feathering a thin coat of gel through his chestnut curls. 

After flinging your purse over your shoulder and smoothing out your dark plaid skirt, you slipped into a pair of combat boots and deliberately laced them up just as Poe left the restroom. He assisted you out of the hotel room with his hand platonically holding yours as you babbled about your excitement.

The morning sun was a hospitable gold, coating the city with its welcoming sheen. The air was dewy and refreshing, the mellow, fall breeze tickling your rosy cheeks. Poe's hand was warm and reassuring, offering you an amiable squeeze. The omnipotent scent of freshly ground coffee beans flooded your nostrils as you pivoted around a dull corner, eyeing the genial sign of Rose's favorite coffee shop. 

A bell chimed, signifying your cheery presence, as you nudged the door open with your forearm and glimpsed the serene crowd. Your eyes loitered on one man in particular, only because his— alluring and emerald— were trained on yours. 

You gulped charily, eyes flickering from his and back to the remnants of the posh café apprehensively. 

A giddy squeal wrangled you by the collar, jerking you back into reality. Rose was waving her hands at you fervently from a cozy booth in the corner of the shop, grinning, exposing her pearly whites. You chuckled breathily, smiling back benevolently, dragging Poe towards her with light skips. 

He slipped into the empty half of the booth first and you followed suit. Introducing themselves to each other cordially, you hovered in silence with a lingering smile, examining the interior of the café through squinted eyes. 

With amber lights dangling from the high ceilings and a mixture of abstract and impressionist paintings seemingly done by talented locals, the scenery was tranquil and delightful. 

Rose and Poe were already conversing about his life back in New York. His outgoing, extroverted personality was nearly insufferable at times. He rambled on and on about his healthy, endearing relationship with Finn and his unsettled plans for college. Rose was attentive and intrigued, discarding her business stature and replacing it with generosity. 

A waitress had already strolled past and took your orders, both Rose and Poe had ordered a simple hot coffee with light cream and sugar. You rationally ordered the sweetest, unhealthiest latté on the entire suppressed menu; and flagrantly so. 

Sipping on your drink, inhaling the pacifying scent of vanilla, Rose ruffled with her cardigan and averted her concentration to you. 

"So, are you ready to discuss the plan?" She asked softly, taking a loud gulp of her steaming coffee as you nodded vigorously and mimicked her action. 

She shifted, fiddling with the beige, cloth napkin at her side, clearing her throat. "Have you already considered moving to Chicago temporarily?" She quarried, tilting her head. 

You pursed your lips timidly, glancing at Poe in your peripherals. He was watching you attentively, as if he anticipated your response. "Yes. I have." You breathed dryly, chewing on the flaky skin of your bottom lip as his eyes widened wearily. 

"You have?" He drawled, his chocolate irises blossoming with bewilderment. He opened his mouth to reprimand your thoughts and you flashed him a sheepish glare, settling your mug on the table. 

"Yeah, I have." You chirped, smiling through taut lips. "New York is over ten hours away. If I just moved here while I took the internship, It would be way easier for everyone." 

Rose nodded pointedly in agreement, humming. She exchanged an encouraging look with Poe, eyebrows furrowing, as if she related to his disdain. His lips were parted, breaths shallow, his puzzlement tactile. 

That was a conversation you had been avoiding to have with him for awhile. He would've rebuked your decisions if you would've asked for his opinion, and this was a substantial decision that needed to be made on your own terms.

"It's still not a settled decision." Your lips twitched into a frown as you caressed his back solemnly. Apart of you felt betrayed that he refused to support you, the other half, rationalized his emotions. 

He nodded leisurely, consuming your words diligently. His expression remained baffled and faintly hurt, although he visibly took your words into consideration and registered them heedfully. "Yeah, okay." He babbled, shaking his head lightly, gesturing for you to continue. 

"Look Poe, I understand you two are close." Rose spoke up confidently, batting her eyelashes and cradling his hands in hers. "But if she wants this position... We need her to live in Chicago, or within the area of it."

He blinked tediously, before he nodded in acceptance with a gruff sigh. "I know." He averted his focus to you, searching for refuge in your gaze. "I just don't want you to live so far away from me... from us." 

Your frown deepened, the muscles in your cheeks twitching, fingers tracing the damp rim of your mug subconsciously. "You could always move here with me. You and Finn." You suggested, partly joking around, chuckling at yourself. 

He perked up, nodding robustly. Before he could ramble about his fondness of the idea, Rose caught your attention with her joyful nod. "Finding an apartment in Chicago is difficult without roommates..." Her lips turned upwards into a sinister grin as she gestured towards Poe with a cocked brow. 

You sighed in defeat, personally keen on the idea of Finn and Poe moving to this unfamiliar, vibrant city with you. Although if they chose not to, you would manage living here all alone. After Kylo had left, you lived alone in your apartment in Queens, and you were perfectly content and safe. 

"Fine," you smiled softly. "We'll talk about it." You emphasized the word, flashing him a pointed look and taking another sip of coffee to calm your aching, twiddling nerves. That blotchy redness was heating up your cheeks, your throat swelling. 

Your eyes darted around the café, only to settle on the instigator of your abrupt panic. That man, with the marveling green eyes. He was observing you with a subtle smirk, wantonly examining you in a stalkerish manner that unsettled you. 

Half of you wanted to blatantly confront him, the other half that wasn't yearning for a death wish was the exact reason you were planted to your seat, frozen. Just as you planned to blockade his pestering stare and concentrate on the conversation at hand, he whistled. Beckoning you with the leisure flick of his fingers. 

Eyebrows raising in shock, your mouth opened and closed like a suffocating fish out of water. He sighed, repeating the gesture impatiently. 

You warily rose from the booth, maintaining eye contact with him. "Excuse me, I need to use the restroom." You glimpsed the two of your distracted friends, whom nodded idly in acknowledgment and continued chatting as you took cautious tiptoes towards the man. 

He was alone, accompanied by a crinkled, brown tainted newspaper. He cleared the table with methodical movements, slow and precise, adjusting his belongings. Before he slouched backwards into his seat, staring at you expectantly. 

He had sandy brown hair, fluffy and messy. His jaw was square and sharp, his eyes trained on yours. He adorned a lavish, midnight black trench coat that concealed his white cashmere undershirt. His head was tilted, nearly admiring you as you lowered yourself into the seat across from him hesitantly and glanced back at Rose and Poe. 

"You know Rose Tico?" He asked inquisitively after a few tedious seconds of silence. 

You swallowed, eyebrows knitting together. "Um... yeah." You were wringing out your wrists in your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. His expression softened and you took a deep breath, "I'm actually here for an interview." 

He beamed at you with an impressed look, eyebrows raised as he sipped on a steaming cup of chamomile tea. "Well, that's wonderful." His mundane tone weighed out the sympathy of his words as he eyed the liquid in his mug, "Are you from around here?" 

Shaking your head, feeling a smidge less uncomfortable with the stranger, you intended on shedding as little about your life as possible. "No, no. I'm from New York, actually." You smiled, waving your hands. "Queens." 

He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve and shifted, the hickory leather seat squeaking beneath him. "Really? That's nice." He muttered, you nodded. "My boss is from Queens." 

You appreciated his horrible small talk skills, taking the hint that he was dulled out by the conversation. "Huh." You hummed. "So, where are you from?" 

A small grin nestled into his lips. "Born and raised here." He mumbled haphazardly, placing his mug down and meeting your gaze. 

"What's your name?" You then asked, absentmindedly fumbling with the charms of your bracelet. The friendship bracelet that Poe purchased for you to replace your collar. The collar with Kylo Ren's delicate initials engraved into. 

"I'm Vicrul." He outstretched his palm and you shook it firmly as he clambered onto your hand for longer than necessary. "Vicrul Ren." 

The blood drained from your face, pouring out of the cavernous gap between your parted lips. Ren. Ren. Ren. His last name was a torpedo through your mind, spiraling around your fogged brain. Even if it was just a coincidence, hearing that name being spoken so impetuously and without vain was disturbing. 

"And you?" His grip loosened on your hand, face contorted into concern and perplexion. 

Blinking harshly and gulping, you dropped his hand and squirmed in your seat, nuzzling your clasped hands in between yours legs as you retorted your name to him. This time he was the one that appeared alarmed. His eyes were wide and aghast. 

"What?" Your whispered voice trembled unexpectedly as you felt your heart drumming in your chest, pulsing in your throat. 

He gulped, his throat bobbing. "Can you... could you come with me?" He drawled the words charily, cautiously, clearly perturbed.

Your bottom lip quivered as you observed him with an earnest, muddled look. There wasn't an ounce of playfulness in his monotonous tone. 

"Why?"

He pondered, as if he was formulating thousands of responses in his frenetic notion and struggling to settle on one. His gaze was casted aside, irises flickering with doubt as he stroked his freshly shaved jaw. 

"Well." He paused, the seconds that passed by felt like a painstaking eternity as you anticipated his response with a sliver of panic pumping through your veins. "I think I know somebody who would... want to see you."


	3. Is Ben a Liar, too?

The low hum of Vicrul's BMW was nipping away at your conscience, a pitiful reminder that you had abandoned Rose and Poe at the café just to find the antidote to your blooming curiosity. 

The fear you felt in that moment was anguishing. The fear of the inevitable, the unknown. It was numbing your signature upbeat, amiable demeanor, contorting your expression into one that was unfamiliar for you; cold and dignified. When you caught a glimpse of yourself in the side-view mirror, there was one palpable feature of your distress. 

You looked petrified to the core. Confused, betrayed, apprehensive. The blood that had drained from your face when Vicrul mentioned his last name to you was never refurbished. But when you observed yourself precisely enough, peered through the cracks of your somber facade— there was one other thing loitering in your mind. 

Hope. It was a tethered, demolished thread of aspiration struggling to piece your happiness together. Even with the durable beads assisting the frail, tearing string, the aid was only temporary. The relief was only temporary. Everything felt temporary now that Kylo Ren was gone. 

Now, with your tremulant gaze darting from the scampering streets and your eerily composed, consequential driver...

You realized that he was never gone. 

Your crumbling foundation of hope was being rehabilitated with ambition. After ten tedious months in a melancholy lonesome, the thought of being reunited with him was immense and causing you to profusely fret. Regardless of the kindling flame of excitement scathing your gut.

"Where are we... going exactly?" You gulped deliriously, tapping your foot frenetically enough to shake the entire rumbling vehicle. 

Vicrul sighed heavily, his fingers dancing along the gearshift. "The office." He responded dryly, clearing his throat and shifting uncomfortably.

"The office?" You mimicked his words leisurely, puzzled. 

He nodded curtly and flashed you an empathetic, pitiful smile, as if he could sense your tactile unease. With the skittish movements of your body language it was logical that your queasiness was contagious.

"That's where he is..." You pondered under your breath, feeling your vision being glazed over by a murky cloud of tears. "I- I don't think I can do this." You whispered frantically, blinking away your appending tears. 

Vicrul remained silent for a few moments, convincing you that he would never acknowledge your sorrow. The car jerked when he pivoted around a curve, pulling into a broad, yellow tainted parking garage.

"I think this will be good." He responded, maneuvering through the darkness consuming the garage. He glanced at you, his eyes glistening from the feeble lighting. "For him. And you too." He implied and scanned your current emotional condition. 

Your eyebrows knitted together and you unintentionally let a bitter scoff slip past your lips, rolling your eyes. "I think you don't have a clue what he's like." You clamped your tongue with your teeth to refrain from scolding him. His kindliness for you this morning wouldn't go unnoticed, but he was only pissing you off by involving himself in your relationship. 

It was his turn to snort with vexation. He glared at you insolently through his peripherals, nostrils flaring in agitation. "And you do?" He scowled maliciously, sucking in a sharp breath. 

You opened your mouth to lash out on him, only to purse your lips while you took his words into consideration. What did you know about Kylo Ren? About his past that he has spent his entire miserable, downcasted life sacrificing his happiness for, just to cover it up? 

Nothing. 

The Kylo Ren that you were familiar with was an earnest, quiet, and confidential man. A menacing man that had made a deceiving vowel to you, a devoted promise that he wouldn't leave you; only to rebuke his own words, betray his own unreliable promises. 

Your stomach churned. Was it the gratifying butterflies from the thought of seeing his charming face? Or was it nausea, built upon the spite you had accumulated for him over your time separated? You were emotionally incapable of differentiating the two. 

"That's what I thought." He snickered prudently, satisfied with himself. "I'm doing you both a favor." 

You grimaced at his response. The dashing, mysterious stranger from the café had been replaced with an egotistical asshole. "I don't need a favor from you. I don't need anything from you, actually." You straightened your posture and spat, eyebrows crinkling together in annoyance. "And I certainly do not want anything from him." You mumbled through gritted teeth, your body swiveling to face him. 

This abrupt loathing for Kylo was just a symptom of your astonishment and shock. There would never be an instance that you could authentically despise him, regardless of how infuriated you were with him. 

Vicrul exhaled deeply, his stoic expression softening into an appeased one. "Fine. I can take you back to the coffee shop if you want." His tone was laced with disappointment, breathy and low. 

"No," you answered quickly, shaking your head softly. "I want to see him. I shouldn't have snapped. I just hate talking about him." You rambled apologetically, chewing on your bottom lip as you avoided your own thoughts to mollify them. 

"Don't apologize." He feigned a forgiving grin, swerving into a compact, narrow parking spot. The engine hissed as he twisted the key and hopped out of the car. You mimicked his swift actions, warily lowering yourself to the slick pavement and slamming the door shut behind you. 

You sought refuge in the brisk, skittish mechanisms of your strides as the concrete wisped by in colorless spurts. Head hung low, gaze settled on the swaying strings of your boots. Fingers subconsciously fidgeting in front of your lower abdomen. The boisterous stroll through the parking garage was disturbing, the tension trailing along with you even as you followed him up the cement stairs that led to the entrance of the building. 

Scrambling through the pristine glass entryway of the lobby, the time you entailed to observe the scenery was minimal. The only thing you obtained was that the color scheme was eerily similar to the photography agencies'. Charcoal grays, whites, and a vast range of blacks. It was suitable for the prosperities of the building. The scent was limited to stale musk, loitering in your nostrils as Vicrul guided you towards the elevators. 

Each passing second was just torment. The mosaic tile beneath the pads of your boots were vibrating, a mixture of pacifying and alarming. The red, depicting numbers never failed to continued growing. Once the luminous, crimson numbers flashed 64, the elevator creaked and quaked as it jolted to a halt. The doors whirred open leisurely and you stumbled past the threshold behind Vicrul. 

The apprehension became insufferable. Pins and needles prickled at the tips of your fingers. Inhospitable stares seared holes into your skin and accompanied you for your entire chary march through the rows and rows of cubicles. 

An amble corridor was expectantly left ajar at the foot of the foyer. The turmoil was outweighing your perseverance, regret bubbling and brimming the cauldron of your comprehension. Vicrul must've sensed your weariness for his strides slowed and he flashed you a reassuring glance. 

Trepidation lingered in your fervent, vigilant steps. Your ears instinctively perked up in alertness when deep, primal shouting elicited from the opposite end of the breached door. You halted and looked at Vicrul with a regretful frown. 

That voice was familiar and foreign all at once. Gravelly and baritone, teetering over the edge of his own sanity, furious and malicious. You subconsciously regained your footing with fretful tiptoes towards the corridor, as the thunderous curses grew louder and angrier. 

You caught glimpse of the titanium plaque plastered directly next to the door, your eyebrows furrowing as you whispered the unrecognizable name to yourself. 

Ben Solo. 

You hummed quizzically, before Vicrul patted your shoulder with encouragement and snapped you out of your pondering thoughts. He lifted his fist, glancing at you for permission to follow through with his actions. You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. 

He pounded his fist into the door, straightening his posture and puffing out his chest as heavy, methodical steps slowly meandered towards you. "Can't you hear that I'm-" Kylo's vexed words were cut short when he swung the door open aggressively and you staggered backwards, your thudding heart lodged in your throat. 

Without the realization that hot, prickling tears were already rimming yours eyelids, you choked down a painful sob when you saw him. 

When you peered past the facade of fear and bewilderment blossoming into his features, all you could see was extortion. Puffy, purple rings nestled into the bags beneath his dull shark eyes. Wrinkles, although minuscule and faint, burrowed a valley of apathy into his forehead. A chaotic gray and black stubble was peppered around his plump pouty lips. His raven locks were the only thing that he has properly withheld, although they were a few inches longer and tousled. 

His chest was heaving briskly, raging pants passing through his parted lips. Just as swiftly as his keen, astounded reaction had formed, it fell. Into a void of vacancy. The terror was tactile even as his expression was blank. 

"I..." His upper lip quivered, his eyebrows knitted together. His fatigued gaze was flickering from the tips of your toes, to your disappointed frown. 

He leisurely took a few steps back, watching you attentively. His eyes were trained on yours up until the point he pealed them away to swivel around and confront the two men perched stiffly on a leather sofa. He merely cocked his head towards the door, both of the men exchanged a dubious look and scrambled out of the office. 

Vicrul hovered near the threshold tranquilly, as you gulped down your turbulence and slipped through it. Kylo shot him a malevolent glare, sealing the door shut once you had securely entered. Bouncing on your heels and fiddling with the hem of your skirt, you eyed him inquisitively. 

The tendons of his back muscles threatened to snap, pulsing through the restricting material of his black blazer as he faced the door. His fist was baring onto the doorknob, the bones of his knuckles on the verge of piercing his calloused skin. 

"Why are you here?" He drawled ethically through gritted teeth, tilting his head a millimeter to peer at you from over his broad shoulder. 

You swallowed, latently tracing the crevices of your palm as you stuttered, shoulders tense. "Um, well... I was offered an internship. From Rose Tico." Your cheeks were flushed a humiliated rouge, your voice hoarse and vulnerable. 

His stature relaxed with his heavy exhale. He pivoted around to face you contemptuously, slowly, his oxfords squelching against the tiled flooring. He appeared partially intrigued, his eyebrows raised. "Did you accept it?" His tone was mundane, blank. 

Different.

His words ricocheted around the walls of your brain, swelling from the familiarity of his rich voice. He hummed impatiently when you failed to respond, brushing past you forcefully and shuffling towards his floor to ceiling windows, stroking his jaw.

His disinterest in you felt like alcohol to a fresh, scathing wound. He had always been skilled in maintaining a stoic demeanor, that clearly never changed. This was not the reunion you had yearned for. 

After you hovered in the center of his black, abstract rug, speechless and gaping at him, he glanced at you from over his shoulder. His features softened, melting beneath the serene glow of the sun beaming through the panes. 

"Yes." You nodded fervently, scurrying towards him with the soft thuds of your boots. "I had my interview yesterday." 

When you approached the window adjacent to him, you eyed him timidly in your peripherals. 

He had a small, prominent smile tugging at his lips as he watched the livelihood of the city through narrowed eyes, nodding to himself. Apart of you thought it could've been something sinister, allowing an ounce of fear to nuzzle into the pits of your stomach. 

But when he averted his observant gaze to you, time felt illusory. The tension between you two was thicker than molasses, sweet and fatal. His prudent smirk lingered, even as he cleared his throat and broke eye contact. "That's great." He paused, voice blunt and dull. "Are you staying in New York?" 

You shook your head softly and exhaled with gratification, your chest being relieved of the burdening heaviness. "No." You neglected his quarrying gaze when he turned to face you. Instead, you were watching the blurred dots of cars zipping through the chaotic streets, thinking about how your vexation towards him turned volatile, vanishing the second you saw him. 

"Oh." He must've sensed your inner conflict, shifting from foot to foot with his hands awkwardly stuffed into his pockets. 

"How do you like living in Chicago?" You asked bashfully, voice small and frail as you tucked a strand piece of hair behind your ear and faced him completely. This uncomfortable small talk would've bothered you if it was anybody else. 

He flinched at your words, blinking vigorously and mimicking your action by swiveling to face you tediously. He outstretched his right hand, gaze pinned to your collarbone nearly shamefully. His knuckles caressed your cheek gingerly and you sucked in a sharp breath, your pulse quickening at the consoling touch. 

He dropped his hand to his side, clenching his fist. His jaw went slack and taut, cheeks painted crimson. "It's fine." He grumbled, adjusting the cuff of his blazer and marching past you briskly. 

He plopped down into his chair, it groaned in agony beneath his weight. He beckoned you with a sympathetic wave of his hand, patting the edge of the desk. You obliged his silent requests, walking over to him and slipping into the space between him and his desk, hopping onto the smooth surface. 

Silence. The tension only thickened, sappy and abundant, as you stared at each other. His lips parted to speak, his hesitation tangible as he casted his gaze to the side and pinched his bottom lip. 

"When are you going back to Queens?" He asked lowly, rolling his shoulders.

You squirmed, the glacial surface of his desk was chilling to the backs of your thighs. "Monday. I'll be moving here shortly after, if Poe agrees to move in with me." You examined your nails, eyes dancing along your cuticles, just to avoid his scorching stare. 

He scoffed spitefully, his black coils bouncing as he shook his head vigorously. "I never liked him." He laughed humorlessly, twiddling with an ink pen between his fingers and leaning back in his seat. 

You scowled at his words, feeling a twinge of that familiar irritated spark inside of your veins. "Well I do." You huffed, crossing your arms defensively. "He was the only person I had left after you chose to leave me." You snapped accusingly, eyes narrowed. 

Your breaths were shallow and labored, your heart crumbling as you listened to your own dejected words and watched his face fall. He clenched his jaw, aggressively rubbing his forefinger and thumb together. 

"We can't do this right now." He mumbled, warnings lacing his tone as he glared at you and sprung up from his seat. He adjusted his work materials, maneuvering around you to distract himself. 

"I just don't understand." You breathed in exasperation, disregarding his vexation which you provoked. 

His mechanisms became unethical and belligerent, slamming different files into miscellaneous drawers with his teeth gritted as you occasionally jerked on top of his desk, watching him with a snarl. 

"I think you should go," he scolded your name. "I don't have time for this foolishness." 

Your fingers twitched at your side, lips trembling as you felt sorrow burrow into the crevices of your heart. 

"Foolishness?" You shouted shakily, springing off of the desk and trailing behind him with agitated stomps as he paced his office. "Kylo, please. Please just explain something. Why did you leave me?" 

He froze, you staggered to avoid slamming into him. His back was strained, hitching with his quipped breaths. "Because. It was what I needed to do to keep you out of trouble." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"That's bullshit." You snorted mundanely, tilting your chin with defiance when he forcefully spun on his heel to face you. "We both know it. There's so much you lied to me about, and you're still lying to me, even when we have the opportunity of a second chance." You loathed yourself as your voice croaked and a single tear slithered down your cheek, disorienting your opportunity of strength. 

"Who said I wanted a second chance?" His voice raptured the entire office, thunderous and merciless, a vengeful scream. His cruel words broke you, heart physically shriveling from his abhorrence. 

Remorse and regret bombarded his features, soft and apologetic as he lurched towards you slowly and you recoiled, swatting him away with tears streaming down your face. The natural makeup you spent a significant amount of time mastering this morning had already been dismantled. 

"Why are you like this?" You blubbered, gasping, using your forearm to harshly wipe your sniffling nose and continuously staggering backwards. 

He swallowed, opening his mouth to speak only for you to interrupt him with a shout. "Do you know how many times you promised to never hurt me?" Spit launched through the air, coating the carpet beneath you with your betrayal. "Hm?" 

He bowed his head sheepishly, scratching the nape of his neck with humiliation. He was swaying on his feet, limbs spasming as if he was resisting the urge to pounce. 

"But that's all you know, isn't it?" You hushed your tone, quaking with heartbreak, body trembling. "All you ever fucking do is lie. And torment. And hurt me." You sucked in a shaky breath, harboring it in your chest to avoid sobbing. "There's nothing left of me for you to hurt anymore." 

He was frozen, a guilty statue that was prohibited from chasing after his victim, watching you through a watery gaze as you scrambled towards the door. 

You nudged the corridor open, pausing at the threshold. You tediously titled your head, zoning out on the silver plaque next to the entryway. 

"Ben." You mused softly, tracing the engraved letters with your damp fingertips. When you glanced over your shoulder, Kylo had crumbled. Hunched and folded at the waist, cradling his skull in his hands, feathering his hands through his hair aggressively enough to tear it from his scalp. 

"Don't. Call me that." Through his antsy growl, you detected pleadings. He released his head, flinging back up to his towering height. 

"I wonder if Ben lies, too." You whispered, another tear billowing down your blotchy cheek as you latched the door shut behind you. Muffled, guttural curses were escaping the opposite side.

You scurried down the recognizable foyer that Vicrul had led you down, allowing the tears to fall freely. Vicrul was pressed back first into a wall of one of the cubicles, chatting flirtatiously with a random woman. He caught glimpse of you wobbling through the halls, hugging yourself and crying obnoxiously. The misery drumming in your ears was too thunderous to hear the muttered whispers that different employees were exchanging. 

With hurried strides, he waved at the woman idly and rushed his way over to you with a sincerely shocked expression. Without warning, you lurched for him and wrapped your arms around his torso, nuzzling your wet face into his coat. He went rigid, nearly tumbling over, before his hand rubbed your back consolingly.

Closure. 

You thought you needed closure. And now that you had it, you wanted more.

Who exactly was Ben Solo?


	4. Freed

The hounding, merciless thoughts swarming your brain just moments before became volatile, vanishing into the clogged air that reeked of sex. The erotic stench of sappy sweat, the soft mewls reverberating around the BMW, were both captivating enough to fog your memory of its loitering turmoil. 

Warm hands kneading your flesh, soft lips suckling on your pulse. All of these alluring feelings were exhilerating enough to forbid the feelings of guilt and humiliation.

Vicrul was grappling the curves of your hips, pressing sloppy, fervent kisses to your throat as you sunk down onto his cock with a rabid, animalistic speed. The sticky fapping sound of your movements echoed around the interior of his car, faint in comparison to his guttural groans and your lewd moans. 

"Fuck." You rasped breathlessly, clawing at the dewy window for support as you rode him with unethical snaps of your hips, rocking your pelvis into him and whimpering. 

He hissed in pleasure through barred teeth, nipping at your collarbone. He snapped his hips in rhythm to your hasty movements, his hand fumbling with your bouncing breast. He pinched and groped your nipple and you gasped, jaw slack, your speed subconsciously increasing as you felt your peak rise. 

The car rattled and squeaked, shaking vigorously as you glided up and down his pulsing cock, chewing your bottom lip to suppress your mewls. 

Palm still plastered to the fogged window, your other hand slithered down your body, through the minimal space between your scorching bodies. Your fingertips grazed your clit and you clenched, rubbing tedious, precise circles into yourself. Your neck craned backwards as you moaned breathlessly, greedily consuming Vicrul's grunts and huffs as he attentively watched you through hooded eyes. 

"Shit, I'm going to cum." He warned through a barely coherent growl, cock twitching inside of your cunt. 

The muscles in your thighs were strained and threatening to snap. You nodded fervently with knitted eyebrows, hardly even comprehending his words as you teetered towards the edge of your peak. 

"Oh, fuck." He harbored his breath in his lungs, nails digging into your hipbones as he struggled to prevent his climax, cheeks puffed out and blotchy. 

"Just cum in me." You whined breathily, massaging your clit with swifter, impatient circles, hips bucking into him ferociously. He exhaled jaggedly, searching for permission in your glossy eyes. "I'm on birth control." You reassured him briskly, making eye contact with him as he let out a deep, wanton groan and pumped his hot seed inside of you. 

You crumbled with a primal, flagrant moan, spasming as your blissful orgasm washed over you. You slowed your pace, the sticky mixture of your cum leaked down your inner thighs as you slipped off of him with a quiet whine. 

He assisted you with a tender grip on your hip as you crawled across the console, sprawling your limbs and sinking into the passenger seat. He tucked himself away as you adjusted the crinkled hem of your skirt and slipped back into your sweater, avoiding eye contact as you both cleaned yourselves up. 

Realization meandered towards you like a methodical predator tracking down its vulnerable, defenseless prey. Attacking you like a vengeful monster, craving your distraught. 

What the fuck did I just do? 

Your memory was fogged, glazed over with the aftermath of your orgasm as you failed to recall the events that led up to this moment. After you abandoned Kylo--furious and spitefully--and collapsed into Vicruls arms, everything was a jumbled, fucked up blur. 

You sheepishly angled your head towards the windows, pins and needles prickling at your crimson cheeks with shame. Your heart was drumming against the walls of your chest, a persistent reminder of the crimes you had just committed. 

The thought of Kylo witnessing this treacherous scene unfold was enough to cause your apprehension to spike. The way you foolishly melted in his employees arms, the way you submitted to the tension without leisure. It was appalling to you that the first thing you did after the confirmation you and Kylo were officially over was have sex with somebody of importance to him. 

"You okay?" Vicrul asked softly, his voice gravelly and heavy with lingering bliss. He leaned towards you, forearm pressed into the console as he brushed your hair over your shoulder gingerly and watched your expression shift from bashful to somber. 

You blinked slowly, trying to register everything that had just happened as you tediously tilted your head to face him. "I... yeah. I'm fine." You rambled hastily, waving an idle hand of dismissal as if you could disregard what had just happened.

"Do you feel any better?" He asked attentively, absentmindedly brushing the dampness of your tears off of your cheeks with his thumb. 

"I do." A minuscule laugh slipped past your lips, nervous and breathy. "I'm just a little disoriented over this whole thing still, I guess."

He nodded rapidly, outstretching his palms in surrender. "I shouldn't have brought you here. I thought that-"

"It's fine." You solemnly nodded, lips pursed tautly. Although your reunion with Kylo today was brutal and mentally exhausting, it would allow you to reroute yourself and properly grow. "It will help me move on."

He sucked in a harsh breath, the engine of the car roaring as he twisted the key and put the car in reverse, wearily backing out of the narrow parking spot. The yellow tainted lights gleamed off of the pavement, illuminating a vibrant path to escape the parking garage. 

Copious amounts of turmoil flooded your senses, leaving you with a blistering, skull shattering migraine. Apart of you felt like having sex with Vicrul was vengeance, the other half of you was conveniently attracted to him sexually anyways. But there was an ounce of your being that burdened pity, as if you used him just to get revenge. 

You glanced at him, observing his stature in your peripherals. If he was perturbed by the idea that you just fucked him to release the tension you were feeling, he was extremely skilled in hiding it. His shoulders were slightly hunched and relaxed, his face serene. He appeared satisfied. 

Sleeping with a stranger was not conventional for you. With a mixture of relief and horror, your emotions were scattered fervently, and all you wanted to do in this moment was sulk. And nap. If you could convince Poe, you wanted to snuggle and watch Disney movies in the hotel room and worry about all of your issues later.

The tranquilizing albeit pathetic thoughts themselves caused you to sigh heavily, contently. You wiggled in your seat, the leather squelching beneath you as you tugged the hem of your skirt down to conceal your sticky thighs. The café was only a couple of blocks away now, and the last thing you needed was Poe pestering you for having unsafe sex. 

He always played the rule of your best friend, father, and apparently when it was necessary--your sex ED teacher. The latter would only make you feel infeasibly worse about yourself, and your actions. A father and a best friend would suffice for now. 

Once you had healed from the trauma of the words exchanged today, you prayed that you would have the strength to prioritize your new career. If you concentrated on your occupation and your fresh, rehabilitated life in the windy city, everything would be fine. 

I don't need him, you thought. 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at yourself, slouching deeper into your seat, eyes flickering from the towering skyscrapers and the overwhelmingly crammed streets. The bustling scenery was limited but distracting, skewing your whirlwind of unpleasant thoughts, simmering them down to a barely cohesive boil.

The ride back to the café was tedious, like water attempting to billow and flow through a glacial, iced over river of apprehension. Vicrul briefly conversed with you-- with awkward, meaningless small talk that only made the situation at hand worse-- And you complied to the minimal words he spoke. 

When the vehicle rounded a curve and skidded to a halt by the entrance of the coffee shop, you could feel the turmoil reaccumalate, rising to your throat. Poe was perched on the edge of a bench, teeth clattering, scarf swaying with the mellow fall breeze. His chestnut locks bristling as he combed them with his fingers, his fatigued eyes danced along the buzzing streets.

You straightened your posture, offering Vicrul an appreciative, sympathetic smile and pushing the door open, allowing the cool air to slither inside of his car. 

His hand shot out to grip your forearm, the abrupt, swift movement causing you to flinch and pivot to face him with furrowed eyebrows. 

He noticed your fret and loosened his grip. "Would you want to maybe... Grab a drink with me tonight?" He asked. When he recognized the timid, chary blush painting your cheeks rouge, he continued. "You can bring your friend too." He bargained, the ghost of a prudent smirk touching his lips when you sighed defeatedly.

The last time you were mentally wounded this way, you grieved and coped in extremely unhealthy ways that resulted in severe depression. The pros of refurbishing your drinking habit with your hookup outweighed the cons. Or you convinced yourself they did. If the results of having an ecstatic night out were amiable, it was worth creeping out of your comfort zone. 

"Sure." You beamed, the dull light of happiness spilling through the cracks of your solemn facade. "When and where?"

He released your forearm, popping the glove compartment open and rustling through the disheveled contents inside. Wrinkled papers and manuals threatened to spill from it. He untucked a shredded piece of paper and an ink pen, vigorously jotting a sequence of numbers and letters down. 

"It's my number. And the name of the bar." He winked, his emerald irises twinkling as he slipped the paper into your hands and feathered a hand through his fluffy locks. 

Your smile faded as you slipped the piece of paper into your pocket. "Thanks." You giggled bashfully and slammed the door shut, waving at him with the wiggle of your fingers and a smile. 

You skipped along the cross-walk, crossing the broad, two-lane road. Poe noticeably perked up at the mere sight of you, springing up from his position. You greeted him with an idle wave, increasing your speed and scurrying towards him. 

"How did it go?" He asked hesitantly, chewing on his bottom lip as if he was expecting your tragic news. 

You shrugged stiffly, "Let's just say I had closure. I can finally move on." You mumbled softly, batting your eyelashes.

Your words were bittersweet when you heard them from a second person point of view. They brought a ruthless twinge to your heart, while simultaneously freeing you. You had been freed of Kylo Ren. His apathy had officially driven you away and the steel chains rooting you to his chamber of infatuation had been broken, snapped. 

His features displayed a mixture of relief and shock. With his narrowed, dubious gaze and his cocked brow. "Are you sure?" He drawled leisurely. Unconvinced and earnest. 

"Positive." You chirped, bouncing on your heels. Once again, the sorrow had faded. But it will return. So you kept your expectations low and practical. 

He sighed, still unconvinced. "Which Disney movie are you going to make me watch?" He breathed monotonously, knowingly. 

You stifled a chuckle and shook your head, clawing the tendrils of your hair out of your face as the wind caused it to brush your chilly features. "None. We actually have other plans tonight."

\---

The dress straining your body was restricting and unbearable, clutching your features to the point you were at the brink of combusting. The size was either two sizes smaller than acceptable, or you and this dress were both victims to the humidity of the clustered bar-- sweat accumalated in sticky puddles along the nape of your neck, forehead, and any other crease in your skin.

The thick, intoxicating stench of bourbon and tequila wafted into your face, combined with the overbearing scent of luxurious perfumes. The Saturday night buzz was exhilerating yet imsufferable. Shuffling through the lively crowd of drunks with Poe trailing behind you dilligently, you scanned the crowd for Vicrul through squinted eyes.

Through the murky haze of vapor emitting from a dry ice machine, it was infeasible to differentiate him with any other fairly large man. The variety of reds and vibrant blues flashing like rapturous bolts of lighting distorted your vision. 

Maneuvering through the clusters of people, you strutted towards the bar with determination in each sway of your hips-- seeking out the instigator of your excitement. You were persistant on the notion of having fun tonight, even if it meant facing the unruly consequences in the morning, and the long term ones. 

When you spotted Vicrul on the opposite end of the bar, he was conversing with a clad, earnest man with an expression that matched his. Sedated and hard. His attention on the man wavered when he sensed your quarrying gaze. He aknowledged you with a smirk and the curt nod of his head, side eyeing you and taking a sip of his scotch. 

You instinctively rolled your shoulders to soothe your spiraling notion, pacifying your haywire thoughts, and slipped into the barstool next to Vicrul. You left him unbothered, whispering reassurances to Poe as he scowled at him disapprovingly, begrudged.

"Be nice." You scolded through gritted teeth, nudging him playfully with your elbow and snorting. 

Poe sighed, crossing his arms defensively. "I can't promise that I'm going to be friendly!" He bit back under his breath, whisper shouting passionately. 

A warm hand caressed your knuckles and you tensed, leisurely turning to face Vicrul. His intimidating companion had fled, and he now had his full attention set upon you. 

"Wow. You look gorgeous." He praised lowly. With bulging eyes and raised eyebrows, his eyes traveled along the curves and crevices of your body. He appeared impressed and it fueled your blistering ego. 

"Thank you." You blushed coyly, subconsciously twirling a coil of your hair with your finger. 

"Who do we have here?" Poe butted in, slamming into your side with a pursed lip smile, his palm outstretched as he narrowed his eyes at Vicrul. Instead of appearing approachable and kind, he was acting like a sociopath. 

Vicrul cocked a brow, unfazed by his pathetic attempt to appear menacing. He poked his inner cheek with his tongue and huffed. He shook his hand stiffly and they exchanged pretentious, challenging stares. Poe puffed out his chest and tilted his chin defiantly to appear taller. 

"Vicrul." He grumbled with a firm shake of his hand, ripping his hand away from his clutches and averting his focus back to you, batting his eyelashes. 

You shot Poe a death glare laced with warnings and he paused, before returning to his seat with mumbled curses to himself, wiggling in his seat exaggeratedly. "Can I get a drink over here?" He shouted to nobody in particular, propping up his elbow and pouting. 

A bartender scurried in his direction, and you swiveled back around to face Vicrul. His head was tilted by a millimeter, his alluring green eyes examining your face. You giggled breathily with a sheepish grin, glancing around the bar with a blush taking shelter on your cheeks. 

"Do you drink?" He asked, his fingers brushing yours as he mimicked your action and turned to face forward.

You scoffed, only for your smile to fade when memories of Kylo flooded your mind. When you called him at midnight, seeking for refuge after being groped at a grimy senior party. The disastrous events after you drank an entire bottle of wine at Olive Garden and he took you to McDonalds afterwards. When he aided you in your recovery of alcoholism...

And here you were, contemplating on if you should ruin your streak of being eleven months sober, just to forget about him. 

"Yes." You gulped, fiddling with your fingers, hoping that Poe was minding his own business. He had been supportive of your recovery, and the last thing you needed was another thing for him to be disappointed about. 

"Great." He mused, cracking a toothy grin and beckoning the same bartender that catered to Poe. "Can she get a drink?"

The bartender slings his sloppy, brown tainted cloth over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. 

The liquor options were endless, and you were debating on which beverage you fancied, tied between a Martini and a shot of Tequila, when another thought of Kylo intruded your temporarily civilized mind.

The night when he unleashed his demons and lost the capability to contain his vexation towards you for blaming his corrupt, cruel tendencies on his family. How only moments before he snapped-- a fragility loitered in his blank expression when you ordered a beer. 

Disappointment, seemingly with himself for allowing you to drink even after he had seen the way it broke you on numerous occasions before. He detested your vulnerability and lewdness when you were intoxicated, yet he was too conceited and arrogant to stop you in that particular moment.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times as you brawled with your inner conflict, battled with the chaotic war in your mind. 

"Just a beer, please." You decided, your lips quivering as you smiled softly at the bartender who pivoted to collect your drink. 

"Not a heavy drinker?" Vicrul asked inquisitively, gulping down an excessive amount of his scotch, swirling it around in his glass. 

You cleared your throat, avoiding his gaze. "I used to be." You responded, voice thick and croaky as the lump forming in your throat bobbed. 

You hated yourself. Why did you crave validation and love from Kylo when he had just made it painstakingly clear that he no longer had any interest in you? Why the fuck was he allowed to feed you lies, fuel your feelings for him, by worshipping you and professing his love-- only to reveal his true, malevolent form after you were already in too deep? 

"Actually." You mumbled to yourself, before whistling the bartender over. "Can I get a few shots of Vodka?" 

\---

After chugging the unfathomable amount of shots you ordered throughout the night relentlessly, your throat was already scorching and scratchy, and your head was already pounding with each repulsive twang of the thunderous music. The bass rattled the floors beneath you as you stumbled to meet Vicruls strides. 

Everything was just an unintelligible blur. Foggy spurts of colors wisping by. Ears ringing, staticky white noise muffling out the words Vicrul was shouting at you. 

Your thoughts that were once cohesive and rational were now just scattered and ludicrous.

Vicrul dragged you towards the corner of the bar, maintaining a distance away from the sweaty crowd. Without any warning, he was gripping your waist, and his tongue was slipping past your teeth. You sloppily matched the rhythm of his lips, forearms looped around his neck hastily. His hands explored your body as yours mapped out his--

Only for his firm, enthralling touches to be ripped away from you. Literally.

You staggered forwards, collapsing into the abrupt emptiness before you, grappling the wall for support as nausea poked at your gut and you stifled a gag. Searching for the source of his disappearance, your heaving, swaying body froze when you saw the instigator. 

Kylo. 

His expression was petrifying. Sparking a twinge of terror in your core. His features weren't ferocious and animalistic. They were just as frozen as you. Vacant of any and all emotion, except for betrayal. 

"Kylo..." You slurred, drool spilling from the corner of your numbed lips. That's what you thought you said, at least. 

His deliberate, tedious steps were heavy and methodical, audible even over the blaring RnB ricocheting around the bar. He paused merely two feet away from you. His lips parted, only for him to be speechless. His eye twitched, only for them to lack tears. 

Consciousness was fleeing your body by the second. Darkness consumed your vision, dotted with purples and yellows. Head spinning, mind reeling. Your knees buckled beneath you, and strong arms scooped you up instantly. 

"I've got you." His deep voice whispered, shaky with disdain, his breath warm against your temple. 

For the second time in the past few hours, you were freed. At first, you were celebrating your freedom from Kylo Ren and his deceit. Now, you were submitting to the freedom his presence offered you. Now that he was here to save you, you could let go. You could surrender to the battle of consciousness and melt in his arms.


	5. Spite & Skylines

Silk sheets swathed your fragile frame. Cool and forsaken against your boiling skin. The persistent throb of a hangover pierced your swollen skull. The agony of your headache weighed down your eyelids, making the thought of opening them unfathomable. 

There was silence. A painstaking silence that left staticky white noise buzzing in your ears. You stretched your stiff limbs, sinking deeper into the mattress. 

A floorboard creaked, the beams groaning and ricocheting off of the walls. Your eyes snapped open, scanning the perimeter of the unfamiliar bedroom you were snoozing in. 

A massive window was breached open, the billowing, icy breeze slipping through the crack. The drapes rustled with the wind, flapping softly. A ravishing view of the twinkling skyline greeted you from the opposite end of the pristine panes of polished glass.

Your gaze casted to the side, squinted. Your only source of illumination was the gentle sapphire of the moons amiable glow cascading through the sheers, reflecting off of the tiled flooring. The glistening mosaic provoked an ache in your temple. 

You rubbed your eyes with your knuckles haphazardly, an array of blacks and violets peppered your vision as the darkness of the chilly bedroom became accommodating. 

You sat up briskly, cradling your throbbing skull in your clammy hands. Groaning to yourself, legs squirming beneath the sheets, there was a muted tap from across the room.

Your disoriented vision tediously trailed along the gloomy, menacing shadows of the darkest corners of the room. You cowered, clutching the sheets tighter to your bare chest. The clothing you adorned just hours before had been discarded, and you couldn't prosper the moment you had removed them.

The last thing you could recall was the sloppy kiss you exchanged with Vicrul at his favorite bar. Was this his home? 

Had you fucked him? Again? 

The thought sent shivers up your spine, teeth clattering as you hugged your biceps. The breeze was growing to be jarring, hostile. You slithered off of the mattress, wrapping the sheet around your scathing frame. The black silk trailed behind you like a lavish cape as you tiptoed towards the window. 

Your eyes bulged, the serenity of the cities nighttime buzz astonishing you. You propped your forearms up on the windowsill, loitering in front of the alluring view despite the coldness nipping at your skin. 

Leather squelched in the corner of the room, followed by a minuscule click. A dim, auburn glow flooded the bedrooms equities. You swiveled around sharply, stifling a stunned squeak, hugging the sheet tauter to your nude body. 

Instead of Vicrul, your whirlwind of thoughts was bombarded by the stoicism of Kylo. 

His satin features were tainted amber, an expressionless void of emotion. His long, calloused fingers thumbed the rim of his whiskey glass. His foot tapped the floor deliberately. A table-lamp illuminated the foyer adjacent to his brown leather chair. 

You recoiled instinctively, back pressing into the window. His presence was hefty with an indecipherable emotion. His chest rose and fell heavily, his jaw clenched. His ravenous gaze fled yours, dropping to the bronze liquid in his glass as he swirled it around. He hesitated, before downing the remainders of his drink.

"Why am I here?" You rasped, clinging onto the silk concealing your modest areas. 

He sighed heavily, before he rose from his chair. The floor groaned beneath his shifting weight as he approached you with chary steps. 

He outstretched his palm towards you consolingly, a flicker of somber gleaming in his sunken irises. He pursed his plump lips, tongue darting out to lick the side of his mouth.

Your fruitless gaze darted between the fragility blossoming in his pupils, to the twitch of the muscles in his fingers. 

"Why am I here?" You repeated, hissing under your breath and pivoting away from him. 

His methodical strides picked back up, trailing behind you. His warm palm kneaded your shoulder and you tensed, nudging him off of you brashly. 

"Don't touch me." You mused softly, despite the despair in your hushed tone and the curl of your upper lip. 

He wordlessly dropped his hand to his side, swaying awkwardly on his feet, hovering merely a foot away from you as you shivered. The wounds from his malicious words this morning were still fresh and raw.

His silence only irked you. Because through the thickness of the molasses coated air, his solemn was palpable. And he had no right to be sad, or angry, or disappointed in you. All of those emotions were radiating off of him flagrantly, drowning you in turmoil and shame.

"You started drinking again." He stated, voice rich and mundane. He rocked on his heels, cramming his veiny hands into his crisp pockets. 

A bitter laugh navally rumbled in your throat as you cackled, biting your knuckle, shaking your head softly. "I did." You scoffed, looking up at him earnestly. 

He paused, observing you attentively with a nearly imperceptible furrow of his brow. "When?" He asked, tone wavering between negligent and concerned. He scratched the back of his neck apprehensively. 

You opened your mouth, only for your lips to quiver and seal back shut. You rolled your shoulders hastily, your defying gaze floating to the floor shamefully. 

You sniffled, "Tonight." 

He nodded leisurely, comprehending your words with such diligence that it caused your stomach to churn. Nausea bubbled in your gut, ascending your throat, and you gagged as the liquor you consumed brawled with your stability. 

Kylo seized you by the wrist when he recognized your grimace, swiftly yanking you through the threshold of his bedroom. The weary pace of his fervent strides offered you less than a few milliseconds to admire the captivating prosperities of his master bathroom. 

He aided you towards the toilet, only for you to paw him away sluggishly and drop to your knees in front of it. You heaved, clawing at the bowl and releasing the contents of your stomach. Kylo feathered his hand through your hair tenderly, holding it back in a tousled, makeshift ponytail. 

His other hand caressed your back gingerly. His knees were cracking as he bounced on his heels, crouched to be level with you. The urge to swat him away lingered, but you were appeased by his consoling touches. 

Tears prickled at your eyes, streaming down your blotchy, alcohol flushed cheeks. The twinge of pain in your raw, scratchy throat and the agony his words engraved on you mingled together to stimulate this reaction. 

You crumbled, breaths hitched and sobs sputtered, nuzzling your forehead into the rim of the toilet. Kylo shushed you softly, shimmying himself underneath you, tugging you into his familiar embrace. 

His broad arms engulfed your waist with a secure, comforting tautness. He swayed you back and forth lightly, leaning his temple into yours and cooing gently in your ear. "I know." He whispered, breath hot and trembling, his stubble tickling your jaw. 

You exhaled a jagged breath, looping your arm around his bicep, tediously lifting your head from the toilet bowl and facing him. 

His dark eyelashes fluttered, his beautiful features softening as your faces hovered scarcely two inches apart. His breaths were quipped, wafting into your face and fanning out your unruly locks. 

The honey-speckles in his eyes glistened, the remnants of his decaying love for you yearning to break past the steel corridor of his gaze. For a moment, as your eyes danced along his sacred moles vigilantly, you could see your perishing universe. 

You could perceive the dimming, flickering twinkles of the stars in his black irises-- an oblivion of hope, nurturing the figments of that animalistic lust for you that still loitered-- and replacing it with ethic. With stature. Perception. Earnest. 

The universe, that had once been an enthralling, glorious place to escape from the turbulence of the barbaric world-- has morphed into a crumbling source of refuge. A coven of immortality and corruption. 

But a fragment of your melancholy heart felt tranquilized by his sedating, somber gaze. Safe. Familiar. 

He pressed his forehead into yours, holding you dearly, tighter to his square chest. His brooding nose brushed yours, back and forth. You smiled sadly, lips quivering, as you cupped his cheeks and returned his eskimo kisses. 

His lips parted against yours, latching onto your bottom lip amiably. You instinctively tensed, before his hands slithered down your waist and settled on your hips, his kisses growing to be fervent and starving. 

You matched the rhythm of his plump lips, fingers twirling a tousled coil of his hair. The kiss was sweet and subtle, primal and lustful all at once. You straddled his thighs to gain better access to his mouth.

The soft bristle of an angels wings was less endearing than the plushness of his mouth, the familiarity of his tongue. His lips worked along yours with tactile adoration that sent tremors through your body, and trickles of desire coursing through your veins, pumping your blackened heart full of devotion. 

"You." His lips returned to yours sloppily, passionately. 

"Aren't." Another kiss, a ribbon of saliva connected your swollen lips. 

"Safe." Another eager kiss. 

"With me." And another.

His daring hands were grappling your ass, nails embroidering crimson crescent shaped moons into your skin as his kisses became feverish. 

"I- " His lips smashed into yours, interfering with your meaningful response. 

"Don't." Your lips connected with another round of sappy, shrewd kisses. 

"Care." You moaned flagrantly when his teeth sunk into your lower lip, nibbling and sucking.

You recoiled, spurts of your mingled spit spraying the bathroom floor. "I want you, Kylo." You muttered sheepishly, wringing out your wrists as your forearms looped around his neck. 

His hands kneaded the flesh of your ass, massaging deliberately. His head was cocked backwards as he considered you, pondering with his lips pursed. 

"Please." You pecked the tip of his nose, before cognitively peppering the expanse of his skin with tender kisses, twirling a strand of his raven locks between your fingertips. 

His eyes sealed shut, jaw clenched, hands gliding up your back and flattening there. He emitted fumes of spite through his nostrils, shaking his head softly. 

"We can't." His voice was a broken whisper, flooded with defeat and fragility. "This is never going to work. Between my... job and you, my job has to come first." He breathed your name apologetically, reaching out to cup your cheek, only for you to scramble off of his lap. 

You reacquainted yourself with his black sheet, shielding yourself from the torment of his remorseful words. Staring at him with your mouth agape, eyebrows crinkled together, he pinched the bridge of his nose and acknowledged his mistakes. 

"I see." You scoffed bitterly. "It's nice to know you have your priorities straight." You snapped as he sprung up to his feet, gritting his teeth together. You enthusiastically slammed your shoulder into his and attempted to brush past him, only for his hand to seize your bicep with a merciless, vice grip. 

"Don't fucking lecture me about priorities!" He shouted, his straining, vexed voice ricocheted off of the echoey walls of his modern esque bathroom. You stumbled backwards, pulse quickening at his abrupt, tangible exasperation.

"You were the one slipping tongue with my fucking co-worker when you should've been out minding your own damn business!" He roared accusingly, growling. "Next time I catch you whoring around, I'm just going to leave you for another guy to worry about!" 

He reeled his fist backwards and drove it into the mirror hovering above his pristine sink. Glass shards shattered and clanked onto the granite countertops, coating the tile floors in one fatal layer. The guttural sputters of anguish that followed his insolent action were muffled to your ears as you slipped out of the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind you. 

Tears fogged your determined vision as your brisk steps carried you through his bedroom. You blinked the hot, blazing tears away only for them to return as you rummaged through the room for your dress. The throbbing migraine failed to aid you in your hasty mechanisms.

Scrambling from each decked crevice of his bedroom, you managed to find different articles of your clothing scattered across the room. Your underwear was already on, and a bra felt fruitless, so you just shimmied into your skintight dress to the best of your ability.

The hinges of the bathroom door squealed as Kylo nudged it open. He hurdled towards you with hurried, strapping marches and your heart plummeted to your stomach. A thin strand of tethered toilet paper was looped around his bloodied knuckles, fists balling. 

You shielded yourself with your forearms, staggering backwards. Expecting a blow from his fist based on his body language, you were relieved when he halted a few feet away from you.

He had the nerve to look appalled by your reaction. His eyebrows were knitted together, his expression puzzled.

His chest swelled with his hitched breath, "Did you really think I was going to hurt you?" He muttered your name disappointedly and huffed. 

"Did I have a reason not to?" You drawled the words, attempting to appear strong, only for the stutter of your voice to reveal your pure terror. "You... you are not the s-same person that I fell in love with." You waved your trembling finger at him, backing away cautiously. 

He reeked of regret and humiliation, his tense shoulders drooping down slothfully. He held out his hands in surrender, "Please." He begged, his eyes were glossy and bloodshot. 

"I didn't mean it." His expression morphed from angry to neutral in seconds, and that frightened you copiously. "Come here," he cooed, opening his arms wide with a faltering smile, teetering towards you. "Let me make it all better. I'm sorry." 

You blinked at him, a primal sob slithered up your throat. Kylo was gone, and his demons were back. His demons had become the primary source of his mechanics.

"Kylo..." 

A tear cascaded down his rouge cheek. "I'm so sorry." He bowed his head lowly in shame, shaking it softly. "You were never meant to see me this way. I'm trying to get better." He sighed deeply, as if a boulder had been lifted from his chest. 

He continued with a pleading look in his eye, "It started after I moved back here." He answered your unspoken questions wantonly. "And it won't go away." 

If he was just guilt tripping you, luring you into his devious trap-- it was working. Your heart had shriveled up into a bottomless hole of pity and empathy for him. 

"Kylo..." You creeped towards him hastily, tiptoeing with feather light steps. 

He opened his arms for the second time, welcoming you into his colossal embrace. This time you slipped into his grasp charily, turmoil lodging a lump of regret in your throat as you tensed at his touch. 

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of your hair. "Just let me hold you one last time. Then you can go." He tightened his grip, holding you dearly to his chest and rocking you back and forth with the gentle sway of his feet. 

You smiled, a solemn, numbed smile into his chest. You melted into him, embracing him with full force, massaging his scalp. 

"I'm not going anywhere. We can do this together." You whispered back, anticipating his response with turmoil.

Only for him to let out a deep breath of relief and cradle you tighter, hoisting you up in his arms. One arm was supplying your body stability by cupping your ass, the other leisurely unzipped your dress. 

You needed to loathe him. You should've, for the constant spiraling hurricane of despair he had stowed upon you. 

All you could do was love the soft crinkle of the skin surrounding his dull irises as he smirked at you. You attentively examined his face and absentmindedly caressed his cheek with your knuckles as the fabric of your dress slithered down your body and plummeted to the floor. 

He pecked you on the lips apologetically, pressing his forehead into yours again, meeting your blurry gaze. "Are you sure?" He quarried you with his croaky, gravelly voice. 

You nodded with a fair smile, lips brushing his. "A promise is a promise, my love." You stroked his sweat soaked locks, tilting your chin and straining the muscles in your neck to kiss his forehead. "And I pinky promised that I would always be yours."


	6. Familiar & Foreign

His face melted into a solidified pool of adoration. His honey, nurturing gaze was memorizing the gleam of endearment in your glossy eyes. He wordlessly basked in your indiscernible loyalty to him, before his plump lips parted and he exhaled heavily.

"There's my little girl." Kylo whispered, his soft tone laced with relief. His amiable lips sought refuge in yours, his tongue slithered inside of your mouth and weaved with yours. You cupped his cheeks intently, latching onto his warm lips with an equal amount of fervency.

Your legs wrapped around his torso as his hands explored your ass, kneading and pinching the flesh. He growled into your lips, slamming you back first into the mattress. The bed frame creaked and groaned. Your hands glided up and down his back, gripping the muscles that flexed beneath his button-up shirt. 

His lips detached from yours, only to pepper sloppy, passionate kisses to your pulse. You mewled as his massive hands palmed your breasts, flicking your nipples.

"I missed this beautiful body," he breathed your name, "So perfect." He rasped, trailing his lips down to your collarbone, suckling and nibbling on the skin as you mewled. 

You raked your fingers through his silky locks, yanking his head back up and pulling it to your face. You forcefully thrusted your tongue past his lips. He deepened the kiss, one hand slithering down your hip as the other fumbled with his belt. 

In one swift motion, he released his belt from his pants and pinned both of your wrists together. He wrapped the thick leather around them, "Hands off, okay baby?" He rasped, lips sparkling with spit as he hovered above your face with earnest and you nodded. 

He latched the clasp of his belt together, securing it around your wrists and pressing a meaningful kiss to your forehead. "Good girl." He cooed softly with a lousy side smirk, ruffling with your hair sensually. 

A bashful smile formed on your lips as he just hovered for a moment, admiring you with his quarrying head tilted. He grinned back, lowering his face to be level with your stomach. He kissed your belly button, pressing kisses all along your abdomen, all while maintaining eye contact. He unbuttoned his shirt as he continued laying delicate kisses upon your skin. He balled the fabric up and tossed it onto to the floor.

You squirmed, warmth pooling in your lower belly as he curled his fingers around the string of your panties and slipped them off of your body. His hands glided up and down your thighs as he hoisted your legs up on his broad shoulders. His lips reached your mound, his warm breath wafting into your sex. You stifled a whine when he removed his mouth, straightening his posture and lining himself up with your entrance.

You folded your ankles around the nape of his neck, chewing your bottom lip and watching attentively as he unzipped his pants leisurely. "Mm." He hummed approvingly, tongue poking his inner cheek as he palmed his bulge through his boxers. "You're so pretty, you know that?" 

He sighed contently as he untucked himself from his boxers and stroked his shaft. You nearly salivated at the sight of his pulsing red cock as it leaked precum all over you. You thrashed your wrists in their taut restraint, yearning to touch it as it twitched in his palm. 

"Please let me feel you." You whimpered. "Please, daddy."

He blinked harshly, drawling in a sharp breath as a devious grin tugged at his lips. It's been forever since you retorted his title, and it's been forever since he had heard it. 

His cock jumped in his hand and he growled, plowing his dick straight into your core. A lewd wail elicited from your throat, body jolting as his massive girth sheathed your entrance and stretched your walls. Without sparing you a second to accommodate to his size, he pounded into you mercilessly.

"That's right," he grunted, folding at the waist and slamming his chest into yours, clasping your throat with his veiny hand. He applied firm pressure with his fingertips as he thrusted deep inside of you, his tip stroking your cervix as your jaw went slack and you moaned.

The warm, calloused skin of his fingertips was familiar and foreign all at once. As his lips suckled on your pulse, and his cock slipped in and out of you forcefully, your spiraling notion was numbed by the relishment of his hips rocking into yours, skin slapping into skin. After a few heated, lustrous moments, you started to clench around him, blubbering nonsense.

You gasped when his digits rubbed your clit, massaging and pinching vigorously, his breaths morphed into pants as he snapped his hips and pounded into you. 

Your legs trembled, the muscles in your hamstrings straining as he gripped your hips and sunk infeasibly deeper into you, gritting his teeth. You were seconds away from hitting your peak, moaning wantonly. 

"Cum with me." He breathed, beads of sweat trickling down his body, cascading down his skin and mingling with yours as you nodded fervently and let go.

Your orgasm crashed into you like a tidal wave of relief, catching your scorching skin ablaze with pleasure as you clenched and convulsed around him, moaning voluptuously. He finished with you, pumping his hot seed deep within your gut, sputtering through pursed lips. 

He groaned gruffly, cock twitching inside of you as he slowed his thrusts and smashed his lips into yours. You moaned into his mouth, legs shaking and body spasming as you met his eager kiss. He pulled away, gingerly unclamping his belt from around your wrists, massaging your wrist bones as he threw it off of the bed. 

"You okay?" He asked breathily, you nodded with a faltering grin, nuzzling your forehead into his as he leaned into you and closed his eyes. You stroked his hair, feathering a strand through your fingers, and he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

You laid like this, bodies latching together with a thick coat of sweat, breaths hitched and labored, until he softened inside of you. 

He slipped out of you slowly, you whined from the emptiness as he sighed contently and rolled off of you. His bulky arm engulfed your waist, dragging you towards him. Your back was flush with his sticky chest, skin latching together like a leech. 

He nestled his chin into your shoulder, pressing a swift kiss to your temple. His heavy breaths wafted into your hair, "Thank you for not leaving me." He whispered sheepishly, tightening his grip around your waist as you swiveled to face him, nuzzling your cheek into his chest. 

"I would never leave you." You whispered back, solemness seeping into your soft tone.

Like you left me. 

~

Auburn rays of the suns morning glow bled through the thin, black drapes encompassing his window. As your heavy gaze-- bloodshot and scorching with fatigue-- danced along Kylo and his tranquil stature, a golden ribbon of the suns wrath illuminated his rouge cheek.

Gruff, minuscule snores slipped past his plump lips. His raven locks were tousled, matted to his satin skin with a sappy coat of sweat. His face was nuzzled into his pillow, limbs sprawled, one of his hands limply curled around your waist. 

Instinctively, you outstretched your fingers and grazed his cheekbone with your thumb, relishing in the softness of his slumbering features. Only to recoil when he sucked in a sharp breath, hasty that you had awoken him. His eyes fluttered open, hazel and attentive, as they flickered between yours. He cupped the back of your scalp, feathering his fingers through your hair, tugging your face towards his broad chest. 

"Good morning," he grumbled huskily, tenderly massaging your temple with his thumb.

He paused the consoling plucks of his fingers when you remained silent, burying your face into the crook of his neck and draping your forearm over his torso. Inhaling the familiar scent of his musky bar soap, you pecked the sensitive flesh and he squirmed, grumbling, and yanked you tauter to his chest. 

He continued twirling your hair between his fingers, watching you through hooded eyes with a dreary grin. You stroked his stubble, haphazardly gazing back as your eyes fluttered shut. Sleep irked you, taunting you with it's deprivation. You barely slept a wink.

Kylo clutched the sides of your head, pressing a firm, meaningful kiss to your forehead. His warm lips loitered there for a few seconds, before he pulled away and turned his back to you. His bare back rose and fell diligently, your fingers traced the moles scattered along his skin, before your drowsy gaze skittered across something new. 

A scar. Pale and rigid, blending in with the olive blemishes of his skin, except for the puffiness that bubbled at the surface.

The tendons of his muscles flexed as he fumbled for an imperceptible item on his nightstand, and without thinking, your fingertips grazed the puffy flesh. 

His back heaved with a quipped breath, his tousled locks whipped vigorously as he snapped his neck to face you. 

His eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched. He eyed you up and down with a stoic expression that should've made you queasy, and only left you inquisitive. 

"Where did this come from?" You drawled heedfully, tracing the scar gingerly. 

Without considering you, he kicked the silk sheets off of his body and sprung up from the bed. "I'm going to be late for work." He muttered mundanely with a sigh. Quaking, long fingers hastily latched the pendant of his watch together on his wrist. 

You swathed your nude body in the sheet, slouching as you hopped off of the mattress and hovered by the bed awkwardly. 

He stomped over to his walk-in closet, freezing in the threshold, "Get dressed. You're coming with me." 

You blinked at the emptiness encompassing the foyer where he was just standing. "I have to be at the train station in a few hours." You mumbled coyly, clutching the sheet tighter and shifting your weight from foot to foot. He appeared in the doorway just to flash you a disappointed look.

He feigned his softness, sighing heavily, shoulders slouching. He was smoothing out the crinkled fabric of a navy blue blazer, poking his inner cheek with his tongue. "When will you be back to Chicago?" He cocked an eyebrow at you pointedly, slipping on a fresh button-up shirt and adjusting the collar.

You shrugged with one shoulder, tilting your head as you leisurely tiptoed towards him. "I'm not sure yet. I'll have to talk to Rose." You explained, pawing his hand away when he attempted to slip on his tie. You snatched it out of his hands gently, peering up at him through your eyelashes as you looped the silk material around his neck. 

"I'll give you my work number so you can contact me at anytime." He stated, staring at you with his lips parted, chest swelling with his deep breath as he watched your fingers adjust his tie. You chuckled bitterly at his words. Just last night he claimed that his business was of higher importance to him than you were. 

"I'm serious." He drawled earnestly with raised eyebrows as you smoothed down his shirt and waddled away, mimicking his words in a snarky tone under your breath and rolling your eyes playfully, dropping the sheet to the floor flagrantly.

He huffed in amusement, "Cut it out." He scolded, his playful warning muffled as he went back into the closet and rummaged through it. You snickered to yourself, scooping your dress up and bunching up the hem, tugging it over your head.

You shimmied into your wrinkled dress, adjusting it to the best of your abilities, as Kylo slipped past the threshold of his closet. He feathered his hands through his hair, trudging over to the bathroom with brisk steps. You followed behind, hovering by his side as he popped his toothbrush into his mouth and brushed his teeth hurriedly. 

White suds bubbled at the sides of his lips, coating the bristles of his toothbrush. He noticed your attentive stare in the mirror, slipping the toothbrush out of his mouth and rummaging through his cupboard.

"I have you're old toothbrush," he mumbled through the pool of toothpaste and water in his mouth, "I accidentally packed it with my stuff before I left." He untucked your toothbrush from a black leather toiletry bag underneath his sink, handing it to you. 

You laughed, dipping your toothbrush into the water and adding toothpaste, before you brushed your teeth right beside him. 

After you both finished freshening up, you trailed behind him as he exited the bathroom, once again returning to his closet. 

He left the closet with a long, midnight black trench coat and a knitted scarf in his clutch. "It's cold outside." He muttered, smoothing out the fabric of the coat and aiding you in slipping your arms through the sleeves.

The coat was ginormous on you, the hem dangling past your ankles. The sleeves were droopy, flapping at the ends. He chuckled huskily at you when you swung them around. He gingerly wrapped the scarf around your neck, looping it gently and stuffing it into the collar of the coat. 

"There you go." He mumbled more to himself, smiling absentmindedly. "Come on." He cocked his head towards the main entrance of his apartment, "I'll take you to the station."


	7. Everlasting

A week later...

As you stood in the eye of chaos, swaying on your feet, submerged in turmoil, you groaned gutturally and raked your fingers through your tousled hair aggressively. 

The apartment was a disaster. Boxes upon boxes of your belongings were stacked up in colossal piles, filthy dishes and retired take-out boxes loitered on the floor, that were mucky with the grimy footprints of the repairmen that were already prepping your apartment for the next renter. 

Finn was trailing behind the repairmen, bickering with them about a minor inconvenience regarding their lack of skills.  
Poe was splaying his limbs on the floor, grunting and stretching, massaging his temple. He limply curled his fingers around a plastic fork, rummaging through his tray of Chinese street food, cramming it into his mouth with slothful chews. 

The savory scent wafted into your face immensely, as the fresh steam emitted from the fried chicken and oily rice. As appetizing as it smelled, you were stressed beyond belief, and Chinese would not be aiding to you right now. 

Your predicament was the opposite of ideal, as the U-Haul that was designated to gather your belongings at precisely two o'clock has failed to make an appearance. It's already nearing five in the afternoon. To pair with that, you were feeling nauseous and wretched. You assumed the amount of fast-food you've consumed in the past few days was the reasoning for your discomfort. 

As Finn's muffled shouts of insolence echoed down the hallway, you sighed heavily and slouched your shoulders, before plopping down on the ground next to Poe and mimicking his stature. The mahogany wood floors were cold, numbing your perturbed bones, as you squirmed and stretched your taut muscles. 

"This is going to be a long night." He muttered, blinking slowly at the ceiling as his unchewed food poked at his cheek. 

You nodded, huffing in amusement. You were too exhausted to laugh. You nuzzled your cheek into his bicep and grumbled nonsense, sighing in exasperation. He silently welcomed you into the crook of his arm, patting your side platonically and pulling you towards him. 

"I just want to get this all over with." You breathed into his chest, and he hummed enthusiastically in agreement. 

Tranquility filtered your veins, but only for a moment, before Finn trampled through the room with your phone in his clutch. It was ringing boisterously, and you rolled onto your back with a defeated mumble, peering up at him through hooded eyes. 

"It's a random number." He said. "But it's a Chicago phone number." He chirped knowingly with a half shrug, staggering backwards as you scrambled to your feet and snatched it out of his hand with a breathy grin. 

Glancing down at your phone, you recognized the number as the one Kylo gave you before you left Chicago. For the past week since you've returned to New York, you have only contacted him once, because you feared that if you didn't give him enough space, you would provoke his demons. You called him last night, just to inform him that today was the big moving day. Or it was meant to be. With the U-Haul missing, it was hard to tell when you would get out of Queens. 

You swallowed harshly, scurrying towards the window, just to keep a distance between you and your now inquisitive friends that stared at you with grueling curiosity. You nibbled on your bottom lip apprehensively as you basked beneath the suns genial glow and accepted the call. 

"Hello?" You exclaimed coyly. 

There was rustling on the other end, before Kylo breathed your name. "Hi." He said simply, pausing for a moment as you glanced at the boys from over your shoulder. Both of them were standing now, Finns arm draped around Poe's shoulder as they pretended like they weren't watching your every intent. 

"Do you have the same address?" Kylo asked earnestly, and your eyebrows knitted together. 

"Um," you stifled a perplexed chuckle. "Yeah..." You drawled slowly. "Why?" 

There was silence, before there was a thunderous, steady knock at your door. Finn pivoted to answer it, unlatching the lock and swinging the front door open with furrowed eyebrows. 

You tiptoed away from the window with a quarrying head tilt, still holding the phone up to your ear. 

Your heart paused mid-beat in your chest, the blood draining from your face and icing your features over with shock, as Kylo stood at your threshold with a cheeky smirk and a bouquet of flowers in his hands. 

You scoffed in disbelief, a ginormous grin tugging at your lips as you slammed your phone onto a soiled pile of clothes and basically sprinted to him. He chuckled with his arms wide open, welcoming you into his solidified embrace with a humorous smile as you jumped into his arms. 

"Hey," he mumbled into your hair in amusement as he wrapped both arms tautly around your body, swaying you back and forth as you wrapped your legs around his torso and squealed. 

"What are you doing here?" You breathed, pulling your chin away from his shoulder and cupping one of his cheeks, studying his face attentively with wide eyes. 

He huffed, pecking you on the lips, peppering your face in swift, feverish kisses. "I thought you might need help moving." He mused, raising his eyebrows and glancing over your shoulder to peek at Poe and Finn, whom you presumed to be glaring at Kylo with malice and spite. "Was I wrong?" He asked teasingly. 

"No." You answered quickly through a giggle, shaking your head fervently and he laughed, kissing the tip of your nose. "We need all the help we can get, right boys?" You called from over your shoulder jeeringly as Kylo gingerly lowered you to the ground. 

One of his hands was pressed into the small of your back to stabilize you, as a shit eating grin formed on his lips. He leisurely handed you the bouquet of roses, leaning in to supply you with a more meaningful, firm kiss on the lips. 

Kylo deepened the kiss, smirking into your lips as you hummed a blatant moan into his mouth. Poe gagged, slapping a palm over Finns disgusted gaze. "Virgin eyes!" He shouted playfully through gritted teeth, gagging a handful of times and grimacing as he dragged Finn down the hallway with him to leave you two in solitude. 

You kissed him back passionately, humming in satisfaction, before slowly detaching your lips from his. "Thanks for the flowers," you beamed, twirling out of his tender grip and trudging over to the kitchen. 

You stumbled over a few miscellaneous boxes that were scattered all over the floor, rustling through the mostly vacant cupboards, until you found a dense vase you hadn't boxed up yet. You outstretched your fingertips to grapple with it, standing on your tiptoes, only to be too short to reach. 

You flashed Kylo a pleading look and he hurried over to you with brisk strides, looming over you and fishing the vase off of the shelf. He brought it over to the sink, filling it half full with water as you trimmed the roses, plucking a few pedals off, before slipping them into the vase. He settled it on the counter, which was a sea of havoc, clustered with articles of unpacked items. 

You nudged a stack of bills to the side, hoisting yourself on the counter with a grunt. You swung your legs softly, your tense stature relaxing as you melted from Kylos endearing gaze. You flashed him a toothy smile as he hovered by your side, sighing through puffed cheeks, propping his forearms up on the counter directly next to you. 

"Did you drive here?" You asked, peering down at him as he rested his forehead on his knuckles. You feathered your fingers through his hair, he purred at the touch and nodded stiffly. 

"Yes." His voice was muffled in his hands, before he leaned his scalp into your touch and tilted his head to look up at you. "It was long." He admitted through a wry, breathy chuckle. He hesitated, before he lifted his head and rested his temple on your outer thigh. 

You continued to knead his scalp, "How long was the drive?" You asked. 

He sighed deeply, fidgeting with his cuticles, tracing the granite countertop with his finger, before he straightened his posture and stood to his full height. "Around thirteen hours." He said, slipping his arms through the gap between yours, resting his palms on either side of you. 

You gasped, "You must be tired." 

He nodded solemnly with a shrug. "But it was worth it." His lips connected with yours again, in a short but sweet, passionate kiss. His hand came up and pinched your cheeks together, tilting your head from side to side vigorously. "Because I get to spend time with you." He cooed playfully through puckered lips. 

You pawed him away with a cackle, relishing in the heart-warming moment. Because the rational part of you already knew that his goofiness was only temporary. He struggled to maintain things when it came to his uncircuited emotions and haywire thoughts. This was all just apart of the repetitive cycle, and you were accepting it. 

Even though it hurt every time this rare part of him that you adored vanished, and was rehabilitated with the menace of his pesky demons. These short lived, cherishing moments were enough for you. Enough for you to overlook the agony of abandonment and apathy. 

Kylo stated your name with the elegant click of his tongue, you blinked rapidly to bat the trepidating thoughts away, smiling queasily at him. That appending nausea from earlier was loitering in your gut, and you disregarded the sickening feeling when he offered you a hand and helped you hop down from the counter. 

"I thought you were moving today?" He pursed his lips, his eyebrows crinkling together, as he scanned his tarnished surroundings. 

"The U-Haul never showed up." You frowned, feigning acceptance by waving a hand of dismissal. "It's fine. I'm honestly exhausted anyways." 

He nodded slowly in agreement, casting his gaze to the side as he pondered. "Are you too tired for me to take you somewhere?" He asked charily, nearly timidly, as if he expected rejection. 

Despite the ache in your limbs, and the heaviness of your fatigued eyelids, you shook your head. "We can go wherever you want." 

He tucked a strand piece of your hair behind your ear, his calloused thumb caressing the apple of your rouge cheek. "Let's go then." He cocked his head towards the door, his warm hand abandoned your cheek and found yours instead, weaving his fingers with yours and guiding you towards the door. 

"Poe! Finn! We'll be back!" You shouted, scrambling to meet his strapping strides. Poe peeked his head through the bedroom door with his eyes narrowed accusingly. 

"Be careful, love ya!" Finn poked his head out with a giddy smile, waving you off and blowing you a kiss. Poe rolled his eyes, mouthing a prominent "I love you" as you nodded and mouthed it back, waddling past the threshold and disappearing behind the door with Kylo.

Once you dashed down three flights of stairs together, conversing idly about your plans for Chicago, your heart stammered at the mere sight of his Porsche. The black exterior was shimmering beneath the amber rays of the suns evening sheen. Polished and just as pristine as ever. 

He held the passenger door open for you and you shimmied inside. He hovered there for a few seconds until you adjusted yourself to your liking and buckled up, before rounding to his side. 

The engine rumbled, sputtering as it roared back to life, and without relent he zoomed down the bustling street surrounding your apartment, soaring down the road at light speed. You huffed to yourself, I guess some things never change. He's the worst driver you've ever seen, even after ten months of not experiencing it from the familiar passengers seat. 

"Did you eat anything?" He asked after a few moments of silence, speeding down the interstate, the route embedded into your mind from the amount of times you took it together to escape the risks of getting caught. 

You subconsciously placed your hand on your grumbling stomach as the nausea continued to nip away at your gut. "No." You sighed. "I've been feeling nauseous for the last week, so I haven't been eating a ton." You admitted with a shrug, removing your hand from your stomach and placing it on top of his as his digits curled around the gearshift. 

"Well." He glanced at you, his fingers twitching beneath yours. You threaded your own through his with a lopsided smile. "We can get you chicken nuggets somewhere, I know how much you love those." 

You stared at him, observing his earnestness, before you barked out a laugh and slapped your palm over your mouth to contain yourself. "That's true," you cackled. "I'm surprised you remembered that."

His ear to ear grin wavered, until it simmered down into the solemn ghost of a smile. "I remember everything." He mumbled, fixated on the windshield and clearing his throat to wash away his discomfort, clenching his jaw.

So do I. 

"I'm pretty hungry, now that I think about it." You chirped, hoping to dehaze the fog of remorse thickening the air, and thankfully enough he nodded and regained an ounce of his decency back. 

After patiently strolling through a drive-thru, he ordered a twenty piece of chicken nuggets and a large fry for you to share, as well as a soda. He revoked your eating privilege and made you wait until you arrived to your real destination. 

And your heart plummeted to your feet when the Porsche pivoted to turn down a cracked, gravely road, and pulled into the narrow parking spot of the small lot that led to your spot. 

The landscape of rippling water, and the quaint plain of wildflowers, that had the ravishing view of the city and its twinkling lights-- seemed to inhale a breath of relief when you and Kylo rustled through the twines of tree limbs and tethered, overgrown bushes, shuffling through the forest until you found the exact spot. 

"Wow." Kylo breathed, his plump lips parted in awe, his grip on your hand absentmindedly tightening. "It's been so long." 

Something about this hurt, and the battlefront in your mind was silencing your comprehension. You've dreamed of this moment, figuratively and literally, for countless nights, imagining what it would feel like to be here with him again. The scars were just too deep to bandage with forgiveness. 

"Come." He muttered, in a tone that was childish and ecstatic, peculiar compared to his grizzly voice. 

His knees cracked as he crouched down in the grass, plopping down on his ass with a minuscule grunt. He patted the plush tendrils of green in front of him expectantly and you snickered as you plopped down between his legs, squirming and nestling your back into his chest. 

The sun had already begun its departure from the violet sky, barely peeking through the narrow crevices between each skyscraper. The sun was the amiable paint brush of the sky, painting the fluffy cloudscape in an array of scarlets, purples and oranges. 

You wordlessly munched on your unhealthy food, bodies huddled together, as Kylo would occasionally sneak a kiss to your cheek or feed you a french fry. Everything in that moment felt surreal, because with the amber hue of the vanishing sun, and the gradient of the vibrant skies lavishing colors, your love for him was everlasting. The kind that is tormenting in the most exhilarating ways imaginable. 

Now, your bodies were intertwined, laced together like two tethered threads that relied on the other to weave its prosperities correctly, as you laid on your backs and gazed at the faint outline of the stars peppering the darkening sky. 

"Kylo?" You whispered into the air, your soft word billowing through the air and evaporating with the breeze.

His chest rumbled beneath your cheek, "Baby?" He stroked your hair, grazing your earlobe with his pinky, staring at the sparkling galaxy.

"What happened to us?" You asked heedfuly, swallowing your dignity. Your voice trembled, revealing your underlying fear of the answer he would grant you. 

His chest swelled with his deep breath, his fingers continuously caressing your scalp. "I happened."


	8. Beautiful Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, like the classic piece of artistry by the almighty John Lennon.

Everything was... serene. The leaves bristled with the autumn breeze, and the stream of frisky water rippled along with it. The short tendrils of grass swayed and tickled your soft flesh. The low, gruff snores escaping the depths of Kylos chest wafted into your scalp, as you traced the prominent outline of his abdomen through his button-up seat. 

The pacifying surroundings were softly illuminated by the moons sapphire sheen, aided by the flares and flickers of the bustling cities lights. With each deep, solace breath, Kylo's chest swelled and rumbled beneath your cheek. His fingers twitched as they continued intertwining with a strand of your wild hair, even as he slept. 

His chin was rooted to the crown of your head, lips nuzzled into your scalp. His sedated features were those of a roman sculpture, molded by the graceful hands of angels, pure and virtuous. You had passed out moments before he did, with a full belly and fatigued limbs, embracing his body like it was your safe haven. 

With the commotion eliciting from the downtown streets, you were roused from your slumber, left to reminisce on your own, as your sleeping boy cradled you to his chest, as if he feared that you would vanish if he released you from his broad embrace.

My beautiful boy, you thought, with a minuscule smile touching your lips, as you stroked a strand of his hair.

Even though it's only been a week, it felt like an eternity since the last time you were granted the opportunity to admire him like this. Soft, vulnerable, and yours. Just yours. 

Yours, as in the past tense. He was once the lawful hero of your barbaric story. The cordial guardian angel that had been assigned to serve and protect you, from the Gods beyond the breached, golden-etched gates of Heaven. The vital antidote to your solitude, his presence was a tactile path of electricity pumping through your veins. The ginger touches of his skin, that could liquify your morals, and mold your brain into mush. 

Kylo sucked in a sharp breath, his chest hitching beneath you, as he stroked your hair and titled his head up vigorously to look down at you. "Baby? You awake?" He whispered, his voice was ginger, laced with benevolence. 

You nodded, his shirt crinkled beneath your head as you tilted it at a peculiar angle to peer up at him through your eyelashes, a sleepy grin tugging at your lips. "Hey, sleeping beauty." You mumbled, blinking drearily. 

He let out a gravelly, breathy chuckle, scooping your head into his large hands and pressing a firm kiss to your forehead. "Hey." He mused back, grumbling into your skin. His voice was hoarse, gruff with exhaustion, as his lips detached from your forehead with a minuscule smack. 

"We should probably get back to your friends, hm?" He feigned a dramatic groan, a toothy grin splaying at his lips, as his head fell back. 

You slapped his bicep slothfully, playfully scoffing, resting your chin on his peck. Your hand slipped past the hem of his button-up shirt, and your fingers grazed his happy trail, subconsciously twirling a piece of hair between your fingers. 

"We should stay here just a bit longer." You muttered, tilting your head innocently and nibbling on your bottom lip. 

He cocked a brow, his eyes darting to your hand, that was slithering towards the tint in his pants. "What do you think you're doing?" A devious grin was nestling into the corner of his lips, and in one swift motion, his arms engulfed your waist and he flipped you onto your back, hovering above you. 

"Nice try, baby." A shit-eating grin, that spread from ear to ear, and burrowed protruding dimples of amusement into his cheeks, splayed across his lips, as his face tediously hovered closer to yours.

His lips slowly eloped with yours, at a passionate, leisure pace, as his tongue rhythmically regained its familiarity with your mouth. One of his monstrous hands was cradling your neck, his fingers curled around the nape, the other was firmly grasping your hip, as he rolled his pelvis into you.

You released a small gasp into his mouth, your fingers skimming through his silky locks and tugging his face closer, until his long nose was feverishly pressing into your cheek. Your jaw went slack and he deepened the kiss, growling into your lips.

His lips detached from yours, and you raked in lungfuls of air, as his lips trailed steaming kisses down your jaw, searing your skin with a scathing flame of desire. As he peppered hot kisses into your neck and peeled off your leggings, suckling and nibbling on your pulse, reminiscent memories flooded your clouded, lustrous brain. 

Ten months ago, you and Kylo made love in this exact spot. With minds fogged with lust, basking beneath the moonlight as it illuminated your entangled, writhing bodies. This time, there was not a single soul that could perturb you, or interrupt this lechery. Not like his ex-wife did on that chaotic, frisky night. 

She seemed content now, her loyalties lied elsewhere, and her obsession with demolishing your relationship with Kylo faded away. She was now, a bustling, overworked mother of two twin girls. You crossed paths with her at the library a few months ago, and she was accompanied by a witty blonde man. She had a cheery grin that brightened her somber features, and it was alleviating to know that you were both granted the opportunity to disregard the hostile-tension you shared. 

But then, thoughts of another person, filtered your solace thoughts and bombarded them with tangible turmoil. 

Vicrul. 

Kylo is oblivious to the whole sexual ordeal with Vicrul. He witnessed you kissing him, but he lacked the knowledge of what you did with him in his car... and what you let him do to you.

Kylos torrid, eager breaths wafted into your belly as he hiked the hem of your shirt up and loitered sappy kisses to your skin, situating himself between your now spread legs. "You're so tense," he mumbled into your flesh, an apprehensive edge to his tone. "Are you okay, my love?" 

You nodded hastily, threading your fingers through his hair and massaging his scalp, chewing on your bottom lip. "Yeah, I'm just thinking." You breathed with a soft, faltering smile. 

"Mm." He purred at your touch, his lips continuing to suck welts into your belly, "And what is my baby thinking about?"

You. 

How I betrayed you. 

How much I regret what I did with Vicrul.

And what I let him do.

"You." Your voice croaked, breath hitching in your chest, as his lips trailed to your mound and his honey-speckled gaze bored through yours with yearning, and gratitude. "You're all I think about, Kylo." You whispered, blinking away the remorseful tears that were brimming your eyelids. 

He sighed, a warm smirk softly nestling into his rouge lips. He snickered, shaking his head, the black tendrils of his thick hair tickling your inner thighs as his lips ghosted your slit through your damp panties. "If only you knew, little girl." He mused with a breathy chuckle, thumbing the lace straps of your panties and tugging them off slowly. "How much I think of you, and this pretty little pussy." 

He licked his cherry lips, and lunged an attack on your sex. His tongue lapped up your juices and you stifled a squeak, one hand grappling with a patch of grass as the other pet his scalp. His broad shoulders slipped under your thighs, hoisting your legs up, as he looped his bulky arms around them and lodged his tongue deeper into your core, growling and sending vibrations throughout your entire tingling body.

"Oh." You wailed, your back arching on instinct, as you pressed your pelvis into his face and arduously yanked on his hair. 

He licked a wet stripe up your slit, his tongue prying at your folds with determination. "That's right, my sweet girl." He breathily grumbled, the tip of his nose brushing your stiff clit. "Pull it harder." 

You obliged and curled your fingers around a tendril of his hair, as his tongue glided towards your clit, licking around your lips and avoiding your twinging bundle of nerves. You whimpered, squeezing the sides of his head with your thighs, eyebrows crinkling together, when his lips slowly sealed around your clit.

He suckled and flicked your clit with his tongue swiftly, swirling his tongue around. You moaned lewdly in response, your hips bucking into his face, as a warm, kindling flame sparked in your lower belly, and your breaths grew labored. 

"I'm going to c-cum," you rasped, your lips quivering as hitched moans escaped the depths of your swelling chest. 

"What do good girls say?" He muttered into your pussy, stroking your clit with his tongue faster, and your entire body tenses as you teeter towards your peek. 

"Please, daddy!" Your eyelids sealed shut, creating a ripple in your forehead, as you whined the words blatantly. 

"Mm, go ahead baby." He grumbled the words sinisterly, with a hefty, dark chuckle. "Cum for me." 

You complied without leisure, the muscles in your back straining as you convulsed and spasmed, sputtering raspy moans, jaw dropped in ecstasy, chin tilted towards the navy, sapphire-tainted sky. 

A stringy ribbon of juices connected his bottom lip to your cunt as he pulled away, grinning sinfully at you with his glistening teeth, as a sheeny coat of your wetness swathed his porcelain features, from his scarlet, flushed cheeks, to beady droplets on his chin. 

You peered down at him through hooded eyes, a beaming smile tugging at your lips, as you swiped your thumb along his chin and ridded your juices. He peppered a few short but sweet kisses to your thighs, enthusiastically humming into your skin with each sticky kiss.

Once he scattered an array of kisses to your skin, he rested his chin on your lower stomach, blinking at you with those whiskey-hazel eyes, as if he was just under your endearing spell, and captivated by your natural beauty. 

There was silence, as the mellow breeze billowed through your intertwined bodies, appeasing your fatigued limbs, as you continuously twirled a piece of his hair with your forefinger and observed the ivory-speckled stars twinkling beyond the autumn fog. 

"I'll be right back." He said earnestly, crawling out from the space between your legs. "Don't move." 

Despite the bewilderment blossoming within your chest, you nodded heedfully, your eyebrows knitting together as he scrambled to his feet and trudged through the grass, shuffling through the tethered brush and looming trees.

You crossed your legs, relishing in the dewy embrace of the mildew-coated grass, as the cold, crisp breeze nipped at your electrified skin. Only about five, mollifying minutes passed, before there was rustling in the quarry of plants and Kylo emerged from the darkness of the forest. 

His black polaroid camera was latched onto a security strap that looped around his neck, the costly equipment swaying with his brisk strides. You trashed in the grass, shaking your head with a raspy giggle, "Kylo! Don't even think about it!" 

He feigned astonishment, "I don't know what you're talking about, baby..." He wiggled his eyebrows at you, strutting over to the space between your legs, nudging your knees apart.

He loomed over you, adjusting the bulky lens of the camera, raising the viewfinder to his allure-entranced eye. "Stay just like that..." He mumbled haphazardly, poking out his tongue in concentration as he throttled with the mode dial. 

A timid smile tugged at your lips, a coy, sheepish scarlet painting your cheeks, as you outstretched your finger for the lens, "Kylo," you giggled, shaking your head, fumbling for the camera— just as a blinding, luminescent white strikes your vision, and contorts your  
vision into blotches of black. 

"Gotcha." He whispered prudently to himself, and you playfully nudged him in the leg as you scampered upwards and tugged your panties back on. 

The white polaroid surfaced from the camera, and he gingerly pulled it out. Wringing out his wrist, he waved the photo around to aid its development. His other hand captured yours, your fingers weaving together as he helped you off of the ground. 

"Give me that." You whined, reaching for the polaroid, only for him to outstretch his long arm towards the midnight sky, waving it around victoriously with a flamboyant smirk. You bounced on your heels, hopping on your tiptoes and trying to snatch it away from him, only to inevitably fail. 

Instead of tapping out, he bowed his head and attacked your cheek with ferocious kisses and you giggled, wobbling on your bare feet. 

Your bare legs were tremoring due to the glacial wind, your teeth clattering as you shivered and nestled your cheek into his chest, inhaling the musky scent that loitered on his button-up shirt. 

"You're freezing," he said, the frown apparent in his tone, as he rubbed his calloused palm up and down your bare arm. "Let's get back to the car." 

He scooped you up, hoisting you up in his arms, cradling you to his chest wedding-style. He pressed a swift kiss to your neck, gritting the half-developed photo between his pearly teeth, as he ladled your bag of trash from earlier, too. 

The walk through the daunting tree line was treacherous, because Kylo seemed to stumble over a branch or a random, rotted log atleast ten times, and he would snicker at you everytime you gasped and clinged onto him tighter. 

The Porsche was inexorable, as it reverberated the dim, canary-yellow streetlights, that flickered due to its tethered age. The parking lot was evidently vacant, as there was a scarce amount of New Yorkers or tourists that would have the mental capacity to find the place. 

Kylo slipped you into the passenger seat first, before he rounded the shimmering hood of the car and trampled into his own seat. He tugged the camera off of his neck, tossing it heedlessly into the backseat. 

He shifted in his seat, the leather belching beneath him, as he looked at the photo and smiled softly. "You look like an angel," he stated bashfully, his thumb subconsciously gliding up and down the pictures surface. 

You blushed sheepishly, and Kylo huffed, nodding as if to confirm something with himself, as his smirk continued to spread. He pinched it between his middle and forefinger, angling it so you could see it. 

A toothy, virtuous grin was smiling back at you, a genuine depiction of pure happiness and serenity. Your hair is tousled and fanning out around your timid face, your nose scrunched by a millimeter just as you bursted into a fit of cackles. 

"Ew." You snarled, slapping your palms over your face in humiliation, laughing apprehensively as he gasped at your response. 

He rummaged through the dark console and untucked his black, leather wallet, and you disregarded him as you tampered with the radio, fiddling with the knobs. The oldies station blared, and you hummed contently, glancing over at Kylo. 

His wallet was stuffed with cards, filled to the brim, and there were a few eroded corners of his outdated wallet. He flipped through the array of cards brashly, and you scoffed when he slipped an old photo out from his wallet. 

A picture. Of your fucking blistered, crimson ass. From ten months ago. 

"I thought it was about time for a new one." He stated flagrantly, "But I'm still going to keep it..." He slipped it back into its dedicated section, and instead of putting the newest addition along with it, he sneaked it past the clear canvas withholding his drivers license, showing off your cheeky grin to whomever opens his wallet. 

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, an old song boisterously rang from the enhanced speakers of the Porsche. 

Beautiful boy, by John Lennon. 

Your heart melted into a puddle of endearing solace, and palpable solemn all at once, as you watched your beautiful boy slip a cigarette past his teeth and light it briskly. 

You cranked the knob that manipulated the volume, amplifying the music until it was at maximum volume, and you nudged the passenger door open. You sprung up to your feet, embraced by the pacifying breeze, as you swayed with the music in just your panties and a t-shirt.

Rubble and tarnished pebble embedded into the soles of your feet, and coldness was latching onto your skin and numbing your loose bones, as you smiled giddily and mouthed the lyrics, "Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy." And pointed at him enthusiastically. 

He chuckled mischievously, hurriedly unclasping a few buttons of his shirt so it loosely swathed his broad frame, kicking his door open and jumping out. 

Within a matter of seconds, he addressed you with the firm embrace of his brawny arms, wrapping them around your waist. He scooped you up, spinning you around leisurely, as he nuzzled his forehead into yours and mouthed the lyrics back, but he replaced the beautiful boy and murmured beautiful girl into your ear instead.

And at that, you spent the remainder of the night basking beneath the streetlights, twirling around until the darkness encompassing the sky was rehabilitated with fetching violets and whimsical scarlets, the amber sun peeking through the skyline off in the polluted distance.


	9. You Love It

The rumbling pane of glass that was compactly smushed into your cheek vibrates, reverberating tremors through your figure, as you slothfully leaned into the dewy window. Even as soft sighs of extortion meandered past your rouge, parted lips, your fingers remained interlocked with Kylo's, as he drove through the mellow, tarnished streets of Queens. 

The route to your apartment was simple for him to navigate. He's driven it a copious amount of times, the only guidance he needed was the aspiration that he had lacked, for the past ten months. 

Every few seconds, he caught himself glancing at you in his peripherals. When he noted the tranquil rise and fall of your chest, and the quiver of your flickering eyelids as you dreamed, he failed to suppress his deepening grins. 

His forearm dangled limply over the leather curve of his steering wheel, his fingers gingerly twiddling to the low rasps of eighties music that lingered in the speakers of the Porsche. 

There was confliction dousing his soul— for his mind was steel, but he has found that his heart was molded from delicate shards of glass. His lips curled into a snarl, a grimace, as he pondered on all of the lethal excursions that would be handed to him on a silver platter of indigance once he returned to Chicago. 

When he had you, he forget about all of his apprehensive duties, and his draining commutes. You were a sweet escape from the barbaric world and all of its filthy lies, and grimy cheats. 

But as the boisterous ring of his cell phone ricocheted off of the faux interior of the car, he harbored his breath in his lungs, for the accustomed blare could only mean treacherous news. He puffed out his crimson cheeks, exhaling through puckering, clammy lips, before emitting a conquest sigh and holding it up to his ear. 

"Hello?" He grumbled, pawing a coil of his raven locks out of his glossy face. 

There was rustling on the opposite end of the line, and murmured, distorted voices.

"Ben." A navally voice uttered. 

Kylo's nostrils flared in exasperation, his grip subconsciously tightening around the girth of the wheel, and your limp fingers. "I thought I told you to stop calling me that." He barked, hushing his malicious tone when his roar of vexation caused you to stir. "What do you want, Luke?" He seethed sourly under his torrid breath, glancing between you and the amber-illuminated street, as the forenoon sun cascaded it's sheen on the cement, bestowing humble shadows. 

His uncle sighed enervatingly, gritting his crooked teeth, as they squelched and grind together. "That's no way to speak to your boss, now is it, Ben?" Luke tsked flamboyantly. 

Kylo poked his inner cheek with his tongue, stifling the urge to shrill his consequential, conniving boss— or, genetically, his mercenary uncle. Both titles— boss and uncle— were limited to that. Titles. He refused to partake in anything that fed Luke's swollen ego, such as comply to his every demand, or admit to being relatives. 

It was wounding, appalling, that Luke recruited him to begin with— because Kylo had breached any form of communication with his family. Including his mother and father. Now, he was forced to commute with his uncle, that had been the keen-blade of sagacity that sheathed Kylo's world into thousands of raw, diverting chunks.

Luke bestowed havoc, and catastrophic peril on his life, ever since he was an independent adolescent. And Kylo never escaped the clutches of his old, lethal occupation... that trailed behind him like a scampering mouse on an expedition for stale crumbs. He was only back to square one. Under his uncles rule, his leige— doing all of his shady business that involved the dirt money being shipped in from numerous implants, that treasured Luke's drugs and other fatal concoctions.

It was never his goal to be emerged in the turmoil of entrepreneuring his families hereditary, illegal pharmaceutical implant. It was just the plan his family had mapped out for him, ever since he reached the prime age of seventeen. Luke's discernible business, that was portrayed to the surface of the bustling world, was just another cubicle-oriented office job. His real business, was homegrown and wealthy with filthy cash.

"Hello? Ben?" His uncle mundanely rasped, and Kylo blinked profusely to recollect himself, his slack jaw unhinging as he gaped at you in your endearing slumbering state. 

In the predicament with his daunting uncle on the phone, he couldn't bare to even consume the lavish sight of you. He averted his concentration to the glistening windshield, as the golden sun beamed down in frivolous, autumn rays. His lips curved into a plush frown. 

Reacquainting with you was the most selfish act he had ever committed, for anyone that connected with him, or anybody that was involved in Luke's schemes, was in crimitive danger. Especially a young, fragile girl as beautiful and delicate as you. His brittle flower. All of the dangerous men or women that yearned to pluck you of your ornate petals, would be prickled and bloodied by his thorns.

When he left for Chicago, his cheeks were flushed and stained with tears, every night upon his arrival in the shifty city. And Kylo Ren was the opposite of vulnerable, unless it came down to you. Breaking your heart, broke his all the same. If not a billion times worse. Only he would never indulge you with the agony and remorse that pumped his heart full of blistering led. You would never know the treachery he bestowed upon his own melancholic heart from the moment he sealed your apartment door shut behind him, to the day you appeared at the foot of his office door. 

"Ben?" Luke repeated brashly, and Kylo flinched at the splintering sound of his uncles croaky voice, laced with abhorrence. 

"Yes?" He breathed monotonously, shifting in his leather seat, propelling the engine and cruising down the street guiding him to your apartment.

"We need you back in Chicago," he exaggerated pointedly. "Now." 

Kylo only rolled his honey-speckled eyes blatantly, licking his pearly teeth, with the serpentine slither of his tongue. "I'm busy, Skywalker." He stated, as you roused from your slumber, and bleated softly. 

A solemn, dreary smile splayed on your lips as Kylo curled his index finger tauter around yours, lifting your hand to his lips, as he pecked a supple kiss to your knuckle and hummed in acknowledgment to Luke, his dark eyebrows knitted together earnestly. 

"Whatever you need me to do..." He started heedfully, glimpsing you, "Can wait until tomorrow. I need to help my girlfriend move her things up there." 

Your prudent grin deepened, as you cocked your head backwards, resting the crown of your scalp on the adjustable leather headrest, your eyelashes coated with crust, as you sealed them shut and yawned gruffly.

The screech of the brakes halting blistered your sensitive ears, as you lunged forward with a gasp, bracing the glove-department to stabilize yourself. 

"What do you mean?" Kylo's voice shrilled in diabolical malevolence, his porcelain features scorned scarlet with rage, his plump lips coated in a sheeny layer of spit, as he his broad chest heaved with each of his incandescent breaths. 

His thick fingers were embedding crinkles into the leather girth of the wheel, his calloused knuckles painted ivory, as he clenched his swollen fist around the curve. 

You reluctantly outstretched your fingertips to mollify his abrupt rage, gingerly tracing his bicep with consoling caresses— only for him to wince when your fingers contacted his skin, his hefty frame recoiling with turmoil, as he swerved the car off onto the side of the road. 

He kicked the door open, with his cladly garbed foot, bolting out of his seat and sharply pivoting around the side of the Porsche. He slammed the door shut, and you jolted, blinking vigorously as you observed him through narrowed eyes through the window, embracing his button-up tighter to your body.

Although he hushed his vile tone, and his sequence of bitter, scolding words were muffled and disoriented, you noted the truculent flails of his wrists as he gestured wildly with his monstrous hands. He fumbled with his pocket, and untucked a lighter and a cigarette. 

He slipped it past his curled lips, placing the slender white stick that possessed the ability to douse his soul in comfort, but pump his lungs full of fatalities, between two of his long fingers, as he lit it briskly with his lighter and sucked in a lengthy drawl. 

You gulped down your trepidation, twiddling your thumbs and fidgeting with the plush material of his shirt, inhaling his musky scent that loitered on the fabric. You adjusted the volume of the music, turning it up a few beats, just to drown out the hostile conversation taking place right outside of his vehicle— for you were aware that if he caught you snooping, you wouldn't hear the last of it. 

He tended to value his privacy over subtle communication, and you were just accustomed to tip-toeing around your cravings of inquisitiveness, or your urges of quarry, to avoid provoking those heinous demons inside of him for conveying the wrong move, or saying the wrong thing.

After a few minutes, he reeled the door open nefariously, rigidly plopping down into his seat. One of his long legs dangled out of the car, as he apprehensively feathered his fingers through his raven locks, his breath hitching as he took another hit of his cigarette, that has shriveled and shrunk to be a few centimeters shorter, as the tip gleamed an auburn-orange.

Smoke billowed around his face, swirling through the crisp air in ornate patterns as he jaggedly exhaled it through parted lips, zoning out on the windshield. "Fuck." He grumbled under his breath, clenching his jaw and tilting his head away from you, gingerly flicking his ashes into the cement. 

You nibbled on your bottom lip coyly to suppress the words threatening to spiral around your tongue, blinking at him tediously, hastily, as his bulky frame heaved with extortion and malice. 

"Fuck!" He repeated, his voice roaring odiously, as he slammed his palm into the dashboard, and frenziedly kneaded the creases in his forehead with his thumb, holding his wisping cigarette near his arching eyebrow.

The tendons in his back muscles flexed through his dark tunic, as he gritted his teeth and took one final, leisure drawl of his cigarette, before discarding it and slamming his door shut. 

You frowned, tripping over the tip of your tongue, as you stuttered out his name, "Kylo?"

He sighed mundanely, "Yes, baby?" 

Instead of responding, you slithered your hand across the console, and interlocked your fingers with his in silent reassurance. His tense features softened, his satin undereye twitching, as he watched you through hooded, whiskey-hazel eyes, as you flashed him a benign smile.

Despite the black pool of molten immorality articulating in his ravenous eyes, a tenuous smirk tugged at his lips, and he grazed your thumb with his own. He took a deep, pacifying breath, shifting the gears of the Porsche, and zooming down the street.

"I know I came down here to help you move," he started, with a glint of inculpation etched into his gravelly tone. "But things have escalated at work... and I need to get back." 

You nodded solemnly, chewing on your inner cheek, as you propped your elbow on the windowsill and scanned the brush lining different landscapes of tarnished apartments. "That's fine..." You feigned acceptance, your smile faltering, and morphing into a dull line. "I know how much your work means to you." 

A glint of sombertude gleamed in his honey-speckled eyes, as he caught the faint hint of snark in your plain tone. He silently pursed his lips in contemplation. 

"It means more to me to be here for you." He murmured, glancing at you sheepishly. "I don't take my job seriously because I enjoy it. I take it seriously because I have to, for your safety."

You scoffed bitterly, "Kylo, what does that even mean?" You bleated with your eyebrows knitted together, cocking your head at him. "You've been saying that, ever since the day you left me." You murmured accusingly, your nostrils flaring, before retorting, "That it was all just to keep me safe."

His eyebrows wiggled in astonishment, his ominous gaze darting to yours— pleading and somber. "Because it is." He growled maliciously, scowling the words consequently, ripping his hand from yours defiantly. "Everything I do, I do for you."

The anger, that electrified your veins just seconds ago, vanished, contorting into bewilderment, that blossomed with gratification in your swelling chest. 

"I just don't understand. What's so dangerous about us being together?" You mumbled, bowing your head timidly, fiddling with your dainty fingers in your lap. He went silent, chewing on his inner cheek, his eyes narrowing into minuscule slits.

"Kylo." You hissed, and his jaw stringently clenched, his eyebrows molding into a hardline. "You can't keep these kinds of things from me... especially if you and I could possibly be in danger."

He took a deep breath, "Baby, it's not that simple..." He agiley shook his head, his black tendrils swaying with the swift movement.

"It's not simple for you to be honest with me?" You drawled gratingly, cocking a brow at him. "And don't baby me." You grumbled, crossing your arms defensively and shifting in your seat. 

His lips formed into a menacing, diabolical smirk, and your heart leaped in your throat at the ignoble gleam of hein in his hazel eyes. 

"Are you going to have an attitude?" He asked huskily, his odious voice dropping a few alarming octaves. "Or are you just going to drop it, and let me do what I need to do." He seethed, scolding you with his upper lip curled into a snarl.

"You know better than to think I'm just going to drop it." You frothed earnestly, watching as the expression on his face shifted from acidic and indignant, to salacious. 

"God, you are such a brat." He snickered poignantly, plucking his cuticle with his thumbnail, his hooded eyes scorning holes of prudence through you, as you only grinned at him deviously.

"Don't act like you don't love it," you mused, shrugging playfully, that wicked smirk you adored toying on his plump lips. Your eyes darted to his crotch, widening voluptuously when you noticed just how much he really did love it.

He huffed wryly in amusement, as your hand slithered across the console, and bewitchingly rested on his bulge. His undereye twitched harshly in inclination, as he shot daggers at you with his hazardous glare.

You leisurely traced the tint pulsating in his pants, outlining it with your fingertips, nibbling on your bottom lip virtuously. He sucked in a sharp breath, as you softly kneaded it with the heel of your palm, stimulating his throbbing cock through his pants.

His knuckles flexed around the wheel, your fingers tracing ornate patterns into his bulge as you lustrously unzipped his jeans. "Look at how hard your dirty mouth makes me..." He mumbled egregiously, his eyes flickering to his crotch, as you untucked his shaft from his boxers. 

"I see..." You murmured back, swiping your tongue along your bottom lip to collect the drool that was threatening to spill from your lips, as his cock swelled in your grasp. The size of your hand was sheer and diminutive compared to the thick girth of his cock. 

Your joints bleated as you tucked your legs beneath your bottom, folding at the waist, your warm lips ghosting the tip of his cock. You could decipher the way the muscles in his bulky thighs strained, as you poked out your tongue, swirling it around the tip, teasing the head. 

Kylo released a deep, hefty sigh, his chest swelling with his slow breath. The leather of the wheel squelched, when you took the head into your mouth, sucking nimbly and swiping your tongue around the foggy pool of precum lapping up on the tip. 

As you suckled on the sticky head, you pumped the base slowly, and he growled under his breath, his hips stuttering. "Little girl knows what she wants, hm?" His voice was hoarse with desire, and you nodded, bobbing your head and taking him deeper, your tongue stroking the underside of his dick as it jumped in the back of your throat. 

One of his hands abandoned the steering wheel, his large fingers feathered through your hair, intertwined with his knuckles. You mewled into his shaft, sending shivers of arousel cascading up his body, as his next breath emitted from his body in a labored spurt. 

"Fuckk." He grumbled in titillation, wringing out his wrist and yanking your hair viciously, guiding you deeper into his pulsating shaft as you sucked with determination and took every inch of his delicious cock. 

He nudged his pelvis into your face, the car jerked, as he rolled his hips into you, his breath hitching. He was close to hitting his peak. You hummed into his cock, sending vibrations throughout his shaft, as he shuddered and let out a throaty grunt.

"Baby, I'm going to cum," his mundane voice rasped, as he stifled another grunt, his knuckles white on the steering wheel and his fingers protruding your scalp. 

Emitting a huff of amusement from your flaring nostrils, you stroked his cock with your tongue and lips, just until he was on the brink of finishing, before briskly ripping free from his grasp and removing your mouth from his cock as he gasped gruffly in discomfort. 

"What the fuck..." He hissed, his grizzly tone high-pitched with disbelief and pique. His cock was swollen; scarlet, throbbing with denial, leaking precum that drizzled down the quivering base of his shaft. 

"Don't you have something to tell me first?" You asked, feigning obliviousness, batting your eyelashes innocently at him as he groaned and struggled to keep his hands on the wheel as opposed to his twitching cock. 

His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he pondered, his entire body shuddering and tingling with refutation, his dick hard and free; the frisky air nipping at his cock, emitting from the breached windows, nearly enough for him to finish in that moment. 

"I-I can't." He stuttered, growling in agony to himself as his long legs began to tremble. 

"Then I can't help you." You shrugged insolently, giggling mischievously to yourself, as you situated yourself in your seat. "I might make an exception if you ask nicely." 

You pried at his sanity with that statement, because it tormented his fragile ego to even consider pleading to you— he thought once was enough to satisfy your quench— but watching the way the flustered spews escaped his lips, and the way his cheeks glowed a coy rouge, sent palpitations of temptation throughout your allured body.

"Forget it." He growled maliciously, and with a smirk splaying on your lips, you observed the way he propped up his knees to steer the wheel as he attempted to tuck himself away— only to recoil when his calloused fingertips embraced his eager, buzzing cock, the sensitivity eliciting a husky whine from his throat.

You outstretched your fingers, skimming your forefinger along the puddle of precum spilling from the tip, and his entire body tensed as he howled out jumbled curses. 

"Please." He rasped, barring his teeth together to suppress another hiss of pleasure. "Please, just let me—" 

You latched your lips onto the head of his cock, instantly deepthroating his tremoring shaft as he roared out a guttural groan of relief, his fingers pinching the nape of your neck as his shoulders slouched and hot, creamy jets of his seed launched into your throat and you moaned around him, swallowing the warmth of his cum. 

His fingers threaded through your tousled hair, and he panted, as he eased your head away from his cock gingerly. "Jesus," he murmured through a dreary huff of amusement. 

You mimicked his unethical breathing pattern, your chest heaving with your labored breaths, as you fully tumbled back to the passenger seat.

"Okay but seriously," you intervened the torrid silence that filtered the car as both of you refurbished the breath in your lungs. "Please, don't keep things hidden from me." You begged him, with your pure doe eyes wide and attentive on his churning figure. 

He frowned, the peril in his mind being restored with peace, as he succumbed to the fact that you would never relent, or disregard this. "My job is extremely unsafe... due to its criminology..." He glanced at you with a glint of hope and trepidation sparkling in his dull irises. "What I do for a living is far beyond the rows and rows of cubicles," he narrowed his eyes at you, "And unloyal coworkers."

You choked on your own spit, as thoughts of Vicrul accumulated in your mind. "All I'm going to say for now, is that it's illegal, and very dangerous." He waved a flagrant finger at you, his eyebrows raised sternly. 

It was an agile process, for his words to register in your infatuated brain. He was involved in shifty, immoral business, and despite the haywire of uncalculated thoughts perturbing your spiraling mind, you only pursed your lips and blinked back tears. If only you could save him from this world of coaxed lies and blatant treachery. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have provoked you." You mumbled sheepishly, flashing him a timid, apologetic smile. 

"I should've just been honest. No need to apologize to me, baby. You were right." He smiled softly back, that minuscule fragment of his purity bleeding through his consequential facade. 

Dewy droplets cascaded down the panes of the windows, as the bustling, downtown shops of Queens were already flooded with punctual, lavish customers. A comfortable silence clouded the air, even as the Porsche squawked and rumbled to a halt in the compact parking lot located at the rear-end of your apartment complex. 

Both of you exited the vehicle, rounding to the back, as the exhaust sputtered from the engine and oxidized the air with a murky fog. Kylo glided his hands up and down your biceps, hunching over, so that his scarlet face was level with yours. 

"Do you want me to walk you upstairs?" He whispered, his thumb brushing the stickiness lapping up on the corner of your lips, before his rhythmically eloped with yours in a pure, supple kiss. You shook your head no, and he cupped your cheek, placing a lumbering kiss to your forehead. 

"It's okay. The boys are probably worried sick about me up there," you chuckled bashfully, only to reprimand the somber gleam in his eye, as he casted his gaze to his oxfords. 

You ladled his cheek in your palm, grinning at him in reassurance. "You should get going... I'll be in Chicago before you know it." You mollified, caressing his cheekbone with your thumb. "I'll give you your space, I know you'll need it." 

His frown deepened, his plump, rouge lips formed into a prominent pout, his honey-speckled irises doe and downcasted. "I don't want space," he drawled, tugging you into his chest, and embracing you with his broad arms. His lips ghosted your earlobe, "I just want you." 

You melted in his embrace, propping up on your tiptoes and nuzzling your chin into his shoulder. "I love you." You whispered diminutively, softly in his ear, and you could feel the way his frown curled into a smile. 

His hands caressed your back, his large finger tracing your shoulder blade, before he pulled away briskly and peered down at the luxury face of his watch. "I gotta go." He sighed, stroking a strand piece of hair out of your face, and strolling towards the side of the Porsche. "Call me when you get to Chicago!" He shouted over the whir of his vehicle, as he slipped into his seat and slammed the door shut. 

As he speeds out of the parking lot, you blow him a giddy kiss and he smirks, those warm wrinkles surfacing around his eyes, as he catches your kiss and pecks his knuckle, waving at you slothfully and zipping down the street.

You skipped with exuberant strides towards the entrance of the complex, the hospitable ding of the doors breaching open welcoming you as you waved at the receptionist and sauntered towards the elevator.

The elevator chimed, the titanium doors whirring open, as you trotted to your apartment and knocked softly on the door to alert Finn and Poe, before nudging it open tersely. 

"Where have you been?" Poe instantly strutted towards you, his hands clasping his hips audaciously, as Finn trampled behind him with a heavy stack of boxes in his arms. 

You subconsciously used the droopy sleeve of Kylo's button-up shirt that was loosely swathing your frame to wipe your lips clean of any proof of your sinful acts. "Kylo and I just watched the stars. You know. Our stars." You giggled suspiciously, and Poe cocked a skeptical brow at you, despite the small smile tugging at his lips at the sound of your shy cackle. 

"Who cares!" Finn quipped, wobbling with the heavy boxes in his embrace as Poe sighed and alleviated him by grasping one of them. "The U-Haul has been waiting for almost an hour!"


	10. Accidents

Kylo had been engrossed with loads and loads of treacherous work. His schedule was compact and filled to the brim with commutes and meetings. He had been spending apprehending nights at the office, once the white lights beyond the corridor had already clicked off and the heater had boisterously kicked on for the night. 

He had an abundance of phone calls to conjure. Three remote meetings with his employees over waters. Countless real meetings, with the associates bustling through town, to lead. He had his uncles tax fraudulence issue to mollify. 

The moons misanthropic glow beamed through the polished panes of his elevated office windows. His thick fingers threaded through his disheveled hair in trepidation, as he hissed curses under his breath, and struggled to keep his hooded eyes open, as he scribbled down notes and arduously jammed his fingers into the keyboard of his desktop. 

Puffy, purple blemishes margined his eyes, that were glazed over with fatigue and discombobulation. He may be a businessman by nature, and inheritance, but his mind was fogged with befuddlement and cognitively, he was teetering towards the edge of insanity. 

The crisp sleeves of his black button-up shirt were bunched and rolled up to his elbows, the first three clasps undone and revealing his glistening collarbone and pecks. Sweat dampened his raven locks, and accumulated around the nape of his neck and the seam of his sharp jaw. The bronze face of his watch clanked, every time his wrist plummeted to the surface of his desk in desolation. Only to be wrung out in agitation, and sent off to work to convey words on his vibrant computer screen with his clammy digits.

It has been a few weeks since he has spoken to you, in the flesh. He has exchanged a few idle text messages with you, that always entailed a subtle "Sweet dreams" or a "How are things at work?" sort of ordeal. He was slacking in responding to you, he always found himself pillaging a brief response at ornate times such as three in the morning, because those were the only hours when his schedule was clear enough for him to take a transient break. 

Maintaining a business and having a detrimental sleeping-schedule was a package deal. Nourishing the fundamentals of the Skywalker Pharmaceutical Implant was draining Kylo of his vitality and loyalty to the business. He needed a vacation. Even if it was just a short-lived weekend off, so he had enough time to catch up on all of the sleep he had loss, and enough time to visit you at your new apartment. 

He smirked drearily in reminisce, when he remembered the way you called him squealing and babbling vigorously after you found out there was a jacuzzi in your new bathroom. He was thrilled for you, even though he was never the type to be referred to as optimistic and ecstatic. 

Kylo released a hefty sigh, his chest feeling heavy with inculpation. His ink pen was crammed between two of his fingers, as he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and allowed his dark eyelashes to flutter shut. 

The holiday season was just a bleak corner away, and he was fully aware of how gloomy and difficult this time of year was for you. He was also aware that the instigators of your doleful correlation with pain and holidays, were your absent parents. The parents that kicked you to the curb, with little to no remorse or heedfulness. 

Kylo was familiar with your father. 

He had met him, on his own accord, though, and without your knowledge. Not only once. Three times. And every time they crossed paths, your father was only inching closer and closer to a pitiful fate curated by the hands of Kylo. 

The first time, was the night they kicked you out of the house. He patiently lulled you to sleep with encouraging murmurs and the warmth and stability of his brawny arms, and then he made his prowl once you were a passed out, snoring disaster. 

It should've made him uneasy, because your parents had the capability to inform the school of the relationship that had sprouted between him and their daughter, but it didn't. He had nothing left to lose. You were and are a consenting adult, and the only punishment that suited his "treachery" would be unemployment. Which was inevitable, after his arrests and crime records, anyways. 

Two arrests before his occupation as a teacher should've been enough for the School Board to steer away from hiring him, but it wasn't. He was facilitated and devoted to educating, enough for them to turn a blind eye to his criminative reputation. His resume was just too good, and they were desperate for a teacher that would succumb to low wage paychecks. Which was simple for Kylo to come to terms with, considering his wealth due to his previous occupation under Luke's authority. 

Your father was pretentious from the moment he aggressively jerked the front door of your house open. Standing taller, squaring his chest. He would never amount to the height and broadness of Kylo, and it took all of his willpower to stifle a snicker at his desperate attempt to masquerade his inquisitiveness and act tough. Your mother wasn't apathetic, nor was she innocent. He could articulate the way she plastered on a candied facade at the sight of Kylo, as she clamored onto her husband and flashed him a small glare. 

His first visit was intentional. He earnestly threatened your father, and he was a smidge brasher than he should've been. Of course, he acted civil and tranquil around you mother, but the moment your father sent her into the house because he hounded Kylo and his intentions out, that was when those malevolent demons returned and habilitated his mind of stone. 

He forced your father to promise him one thing. Your freedom from his emotional torture. He elicited a promise from him; that he would never hurt you again. Your dad had tormented you mentally ever since you were a little girl, and Kylo was an expert on what it was like to feel like a misfit and unloved in the comfort of your own home. 

That was the last thing he wanted for you. A replica of his own childhood. That was a steel factor as to why Kylo had melted at the simplest glimpse of your purity, and fought with all of his faculty to swoop in and save you, protect you from the things he was forced to go through. You were still young and oblivious when you first met, and Kylo stepped in to be that authoritative figure that you had lacked through adolescence. 

Leading to the promise that Kylo made to your father. 

He swore to protect you, and love you, in all of the endearing and sacrificial ways that your father was too cowardly to ever commit. And he promised your father a bullet pierced through his skull if he ever attempted to interfere with that. 

That immoral side of him was blockaded by his facade of consequentialness and quietude. Sure; the occasional vexation would bleed through that brick barrier, but he had never revealed that lethal side to you, or any of his acquaintances in New York. Except for your father. 

Your father heedfully complied to all of his demands. He backed off, and never made an effort to call or text you. It hurt Kylo to watch you perk up when your phone buzzed, hoping that one of your parents was making an effort in contacting you, only for your heart to break when you came to the realization that they were never going to. 

But in the long run, he could confirm that his nefariousness was truly shielding you from being torn apart and pieced back together by your father. Because like Kylo, you would consume a sliver of empathy from your father, and instantly reattach yourself, only to be disregarded and emotionally beat by him time and time again. Those were the behavior patterns of him as a child, before his fathers cruelty became too much, and he took things into his own hands. 

He demolished him. 

It was just an accident though, right? 

Of course it was. 

Kylo slammed his pen down, groaning in exasperation. The heels of his palms dig into his eyes, as he tries to rub the horrendous thoughts of his fathers death away. They still managed to fabricate themselves, and flash like a kaleidoscope of vibrant, iniquitous scenes behind his tightly sealed eyelids. The shrills and raspy screams still lingered in his ears, and the blood still stained his hands.

The telephone plastered on the corner of his desk blared exuberantly. He jolted at the abrupt ring, as he had accustomed himself to the silence that filtered his office. The silence was always loud enough to make his scrambled thoughts warp his mind. 

His office chair belched, his shoulders slouching, as he ripped the phone off of his desk aggressively and held it up to his big ear. "Hello?" He sighed impatiently, his voice hoarse from the lack of usage. He twiddled with his pen, his exhausted gaze casted to the side.

"Kylo?"

He flinched at the softness of your tone, his posture leisurely straightening. He propped his elbows up on the surface of his desk, eyebrows furrowing. "Hey, baby." He mused through a deep breath, sighing through his nostrils. 

"Hi..." You drawled reluctantly, "Are you okay? You don't sound too good." 

He smiled solemnly at himself, the tip of his tongue heated with a sequence of words and thousands of diverting responses. 

No. 

No. 

No. 

"Yes," he feigned a raspy chuckle, the fatigue still dripping in his slurring words. He scratched his raised eyebrows with his thumb, staring down at his lap. "And how are you?" 

You paused, before chirping, "Everything's good. I can't wait for you to see my new place." You beamed, and his dreary smile deepens when he hears you bite back a squeal.

This was his life. It was the purpose he treasured. That giddy, bashful voice was what Kylo sacrificed his own happiness for. He sacrifices it for you. Just to hear your laugh, just to see your smile. That smile, was rewarding enough for him to discard his own contentment in the world, because your smile was all he needed to be happy. He couldn't wait to see it again. 

"Kylo... are you sure everything's okay?" 

He harbored his breath in his lungs, before exhaling tediously to regain his composure. His eyes were scorching, as he tried to keep them from flittering closed. 

His chair squeaked as he grunted and leaned back slothfully in his chair, "I just miss my sweet girl." He sighed, stroking his palm up and down his sweaty forearm to alleviate himself of the pressure building in his chest. 

"I miss you so much." You mumbled back, sniffling. "When do you think I get to see you?"

He pondered, puffing out his cheeks before releasing a rigid breath. "I don't know, baby..." He drawled the words through a strained, gruff yawn, feathering his fingers through his hair. "I'm slammed with work. I'm at the office right now, still trying to get all of this shit in order." 

He glanced at the standard clock on the wall, as you gasped in concern. "It's three in the morning, Ky. You need to rest." You pleaded softly, and he frowned. 

"I can't." He retorted apologetically, tucking the phone between his broad shoulder and his ear, regaining his typing rhythm. "And you should be in bed, hm?"

You chuckled breathily, "Probably... I have a big day tomorrow." 

At your apartment, you were folded up on the rigidity lawn chair adorning your new balcony. One of Kylo's big T-shirts was loosely cladding your body, as you embraced your knees to your chest and nibbled on your bottom lip heedfully. You were worried about him. The extortion was hoarsely embedded into his low, breathy tone. He was always the type of man to overwork himself, the stubborn type that refused to put a hold on their labors until they were drained of energy and revoked of vitality. 

"Big day, huh?" He asked gruffly, his eyes glazed over with befuddlement, as he concentrates on your words and the criminative affairs he was opted to appease.

"Yeah," you murmured, twiddling with the hem of his shirt, "Rose has a trip planned for my co-workers and I. It's out of state, I suppose." 

Kylo paused, cracking his cramping fingers, before curling his fist around the phone and stiffly crossing one arm over his heaving chest. "A trip?" He frowned when you hummed. "How long will you be gone?" 

You traced the supple flesh of your thigh with your fingertip, "A week tops." You tutted softly.

He swallowed the lump bobbing in his throat, failing to harbor his guttural sigh as he smooths out the apathetic lines burrowing in his forehead, "I need to see you before you leave, somehow." 

There was silence as you pondered. The brisk midnight breeze rippled through the air, causing strands of hair to wisp into your face, as you squinted due to the gust of wind.

"Is there a way for me to get into your office?" 

He blinked, a faint smile seeking shelter on his lips. "You have a big day tomorrow, and it's late, remember?" He coaxed slowly. He was afraid that you would be sleepy tomorrow, and he wanted the best for you on your assignment. 

"I'm on my way." You disregarded his fret, staggering from the chair and scrambling back into your apartment.

He only sighed defeatedly, smirking benignly to himself. "Vicrul will let you in at the 3A gate. I'll let him know you're coming." 

***

The parking garage was illuminated by a flickering auburn light. Due to the late, ornate hours, the garage was completely vacant except for the Porsche— and Vicrul's BMW. You were just ecstatic to see Kylo after these past trepidating weeks, the last thing you needed was to let the inculpation of everything that happened between you and Vicrul weigh down your shoulders. 

Guilt was not the only thing stimulating in your chest and fogging your conscious, though. There was fear, and it was tactile, as you lugged it around shamefully. Fear of the unknown; for you had news for Kylo, that could be discerned as horrendous, or as a blessing.

You sauntered through the designated 3A gate, and to no avail, Vicrul was there and expecting you. 

"Hey," you breathed softly, praying that the turmoil in your tone was mere. 

He flashed you a faltering smile, cocking his head in a subtle gesture for you to follow him. "Hi." He retorted earnestly back, his demeanor dark and... cold. His tone was poignant with a glint of disdain. 

Your eyebrows knitted together, and you tightened your grasp around the bag of treats you had brought for Kylo. "How are you? It's been awhile..." You smiled in a defenseless effort to alleviate the tension, picking up your pace to meet his brisk strides towards the elevators. 

He glared at you, only for his tense features to slightly soften at the sight of your innocently bewildered face. "I'm alright. How are you?" He asked mundanely, before adding, "I'm assuming good, considering who you're visiting right now."

There was an ounce of agile snark in his tone, and you narrowed your eyes. Was that jealousy you detected? Or was that just his true form, that he flaunted blatantly now that he had already gotten into your pants? 

"Yeah, everything's great." You mused through gritted teeth, before bleating, "Is that a problem?" 

He audaciously scowled, "Of course not." He glowered defensively, slamming his fist into the Up button mounted just adjacent to the elevator doors. "I'm glad that both of you are happy." He cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders and casting his gaze to the floor. 

A thousand responses articulated in your mind. You wanted to call him out on his obvious envy, but you were not that shallow nor flamboyant. 

"Thanks." You chirped vaguely as you slipped into the elevator. His emerald eyes darted to yours, as he situated himself next to you, and pushed the button that would lead you to Kylo's office on level 64. 

"For everything, I mean." You added coyly once the doors whirred shut, and his head snapped to face you, a brow cocked. 

"For?" He drawled reluctantly, hopefully. 

"For your help." You quipped, glancing at him bashfully, before chewing on your inner cheek and staring at the scuffed up tips of your beat up Converse. You adjusted the strap of your purse, "With... Kylo."

He pursed his lips, rooting himself to the floor, his jaw clenching. "Ah," he clicked his tongue. "It's not a problem. You can call me cupid, I suppose."

He managed to etch playfulness into his tone, despite the tug of his eyebrows as they crinkled together sheepishly. 

"Well, cupid." You jeered, grinning in gratitude as he smiled dolefully. "Thank you. And, thank you for the other stuff, too." 

He caught onto your smugness, and his smile morphed into one that was genuine and prudent. "Anytime." He tsked, and your cheeks were flushed crimson, as you chuckled at his comment.

You paused for a moment, as your confidence was saturated in apprehension. The news you were planning to share tonight were an excruciating boulder, crushing your aspiration and tormenting your limbs until they were immobile with fright. 

You needed to get it off your chest before you mentioned it to Kylo. It was life-changing, tragically and extravagantly. And you wanted the moment to feel special when you told him...

"Vicrul?" You rasped, as the pace of your heart increases significantly, and the saliva starts to build and lap in the back of your throat. 

"Hm?" His features contorted into a complexion of concern. "What's wrong?"

You puffed out your cheeks, exhaling through your nostrils. "Can I tell you something... pretty heavy?" You asked, and he relented, contemplating your question. The last thing he wanted was to be involved in another betrayal. "I just need to tell Ky something, and I want to be as calm as possible before I tell him." 

Vicrul nodded heedfully, flinching in preparation for your words. 

Here it goes. 

Your clammy digits dig into your palm in trepidation, as you pint up the words, before rasping them breathily. 

"I'm pregnant." 

***

Kylo jolted awake when there was a quaint, subdued knock at his door. He blinked infeasibly fast to recollect himself, squinting down at the face of his watch, before shouting, "Come in!" In his heavy, husky tone. 

The door peeled open briskly, and there you stood, with a giddy smile, fidgeting with your fingers timidly. Vicrul was wide-eyed and vigilantly trudging away from the door, his expression a stretched look of terror. 

He disregarded the suspicions bubbling in his gut at the uneasy facade of Vicrul. Instead, your presence liberated him, and he motioned for you to enter the office with a fatigued smirk. 

You scrambled in, swinging the plastic bag down on the ottoman plastered before his desk. You nearly trampled over the rug encompassing the tiled floors of his office, rounding the desk to his side as he opened his arm expectantly. 

You smoothed out the dark coils of hair matted to his forehead, pressing a delicate kiss as his bulky arm embraces your waist and tugs you into his lap. "I missed you." You muttered, and he grumbled nonsense, peppering your face in unethical kisses and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as you giggled. 

His nose caressed your jaw, nudging your chin higher, his plump lips parted. His hand grasped your cheek, finger kneading the sensitive spot behind your earlobe, as he belligerently jerked your face to meet him. He captured your lips with his, his hoarse groan reverberating between your eloped lips, as they moved passionately, rhythmically.

You melted at his touch, moaning softly into the kiss that was leisure with inclination, your hand resting on the nape of his neck. "I missed you, too." He rasped in response, his lips connecting with yours in a series of sticky, salacious kisses. "Fuck, I missed you so much."

He gripped your thigh, hoisting you into a different position, so that you were straddling his hips. His teeth nagged at your bottom lip and you sighed carnally, as his tongue swiped along the blood that elicited from the plush skin. You angled your head to the side, deepening the kiss, as his hands roughly fondled with your ass. 

You shucked off your coat and it slouched to the floor, as your lips continued maneuvering together in harmony. Now, you were just swathed in the silky robe that he gifted you over ten months ago, with his T-shirt underneath. 

His hands slithered past the hem of your robe, one of his calloused fingers curling around the lace of your panties. He growled into your lips, as he snapped the material, and ripped them off of you completely, tossing them over his head as you gasped into his mouth. 

His lips escaped yours, both of you raking in breaths that were laced with tantalization. His mouth latched onto your throat, sucking welts and scattering passionate kisses, as you cocked your head back with another sigh and gently rocked your hips into his clothed length. 

Your fingers were entangled with his feathery locks, groping his scalp, as he groaned at the jerk of his hair and nipped at your neck harder. Blood rose to the surface and you whined, as he used his tongue to spread the crimson surfacing from the puffy welt.

"Kylo..." Your moan was a needy whisper, and he grinned into your skin, before pulling away.

His lips were tainted with your blood— glossy and swollen, yearning, gratifying towards your lips— they smashed together in unison, as if they were fabricated from magnets. Your eyebrows wriggled in response to the coppery taste of your blood, your tongues clashing lewdly. 

He cupped your ass in his hands, and you squeaked, when he grunted and ascended from his chair. You looped your legs around his torso, one hand skimming through his hair, as the other kneaded the back of his shoulder. 

He blatantly swiped a collection of items off of his desk, including the telephone, stationaries and huge stacks of paper, all of them thudding boisterously into the floor. In the matter of seconds, your back slammed into the cold surface of his desk. 

"Tell me what you want, little one." He broke the kiss to murmur, his tone dripping with sultry seduction. His fingers were deliberately untwining the knot weaving your robe together, his honey-speckled irises gleaming with desire as he bored his gaze through yours.

"I want you to fuck me, please." You breathe venereally, staring up at him with doe eyes and a candied smile. 

He hiked the hem of your shirt up, his hands caressing the pooch of your stomach. "Look at you," he murmured, tilting his head and peering down at you. "So wet. You're practically dripping for daddy." 

Your smile deepened when his thump toyed with your bottom lip. You grasped his wrist softly, nudging his thumb into your mouth. You sucked on his fingertip, tongue swiping along his cuticle, as you peered up at him diabolically.

His thumb pressed down on your tongue, as he unclasped his belt and let it collide into the floor. He unzipped his pants, swiftly shucking them down to his midthighs. His thumb smeared your drool all along your chin as he slipped it out, using his now damp fingers to untuck his shaft from his boxers. 

One of his arms curled around your thigh, as he mercilessly sheathed your entrance, slamming into you in one full, rough thrust. You choked on your moan, as you clenched around his swollen cock, feeling it slip in and out of you with yearning. 

"I missed this tight little cunt..." He purred through a grunt, and you mewled, as his other hand clasped your throat and applied pressure to the sides. He pounded into you with precision, with deep, forceful thrusts, that caused his tip to stroke your cervix, and your legs to stutter at the impact. 

"Oh," you moaned, your voice velvety with pleasure and saturated in titillation. "I missed your cock, daddy." 

He growled at that, tightening his grasp around your throat, rocking his pelvis into you aggressively. His cock thrusted into you at a wanton, animalistic speed. Fapping resounded around the elevated walls of his office, as your hands clawed at his back, the muscles flexing through his now wrinkled shirt. 

You chirped out a moan when he folded at the waist and drilled into you deeper, his hips slapping into the backs of your thighs, your core scorning with bliss, as his hand released your throat so that both of his arms could loop around your thighs. He pushed your thighs up, your knees bending, leading him to your sweet spot. 

"Yes!" You bleated, your head and eyes rolling back, as his cock collided with the tender spot that caused your whole body to convulse in pleasure. Your mind was fogged with lechery, your moans spilling through the gap in the door, filling Vicruls ears as he hovered near his office door with a snarl.

Kylo lifted his gaze, his jaw clenching when he made eye contact with Vicrul through the crack in the door. Instead of flushing with embarrassment, he only smirked at him deviously and pumped into you infeasibly deeper, causing you to mewl, "Daddy, I-I'm going to cum." 

Vicruls face was crimson with anger, his features molded into an acidic grimace. Kylo's poised smirk deepened, as his eyes darted from you— a moaning, writhing mess beneath him, clawing at his body for stabilization and whining pleads for release— and back to Vicrul, as he barked out his next order clear enough for him to hear. 

"Cum on my cock, baby." He demanded, that flagrant smirk lingering on his lips, as you convulsed and clenched around him, bracing his shoulder blades. 

Your jaw was slack, as your lascivious moans ricocheted off of the walls, and your eyes rolled to the back of your brain, your body rocking with the force of his thrusts. Vicrul was gone when Kylo glanced back up at the breached door, and he huffed in amusement, before groaning through gritted teeth and pumping his seed deep into your core. 

Now that the spur of energy that was coursing through his veins just moments before, when you electrified him with your touch, was faded, he could feel the fatigue embellishing into his heavy eyelids. He pecked you on the lips, before pressing a meaningful kiss to your forehead and slipping out of you.

Your breaths were labored, and your skin was drenched in a sheeny coat of sweat. "Shit." You chuckled breathily, and he chimed in with a hoarse snicker. He used a tissue to rid the cum leaking down your thighs, before idly cleaning himself up and tucking himself away. 

You fumbled with the strings of your robe, tying them into a limp knot around your waist. Your shoulder poked out from the top, the sleeves drooping down and concealing your hands, as you staggered into a sitting position and swayed in satisfaction. Your makeup from earlier in the day was smeared all along your face, your hair was tousled and staticky, and your eyes were glossy with exhaustion. 

Everything you needed to tell him before... could wait, just another week. Everything in this moment was too good to abolish with the news that could change your lives and relationship forever. 

Kylo scuffled with your hair playfully, flashing you a dreary grin. He rounded his desk and sauntered his way over to the door. Without even acknowledging that Vicrul was now in his own office just a corridor down, he sealed the door shut, the latch clicking. 

"What's in the bag?" He asked gruffly, as he adjusted the buttons of his shirt, peering at you from over his shoulder as you hopped off of his desk and limped over to the ottoman, scooping up the bag. 

"Two packs of Marlboro Reds—" You tossed his favorite cigarettes onto his desk, and he smirked, closing the distance between you. "And a shit ton of our favorite snacks." 

You dumped the remnants of the bag on his desk, conjuring a pile of unhealthy snacks and his favorite candies. You offered him a bantering grin, as he shook his head, "You're a pretty bad influence, for being such a sweet girl." He quipped huskily, as he situated himself in his office chair once again, gesturing for you to crawl into his lap. 

You plopped down onto his lap, shifting to get comfortable, popping a bag of chips open. 

At first, you would occasionally feed him a chip, as he stared at his computer screen with bloodshot, hooded eyes and pinched brows, engrossed with his work. Eventually though, once the chips had run out, the exhaustion caught up with you and you passed out snuggled into his chest. He was drifting off, resting his cheek in your hair and embracing you protectively. 

He flinched at himself, blinking away the crust accumulating in his eyes. He smoothed out your hair, pecking your cheek, watching as your eyelids danced with dreams and relishment. He slothfully typed the remnants of the sentence he forgot to complete, before scooping you up and tiptoeing to the couch in the corner of his office. 

He gingerly sprawled you out on the lush burgundy cushions, draping the throw blanket over your frame, as you snore softly and curl up into a ball. He admired you for a moment, before rubbing his dry eyes and sluggishly carrying himself back to his desk. 

When his fingers clanked back into the keyboard, you stirred nimbly, and he froze. Once you were nuzzled back into the threaded blanket, he tediously, reluctantly, began to type again. He heedfully peeled open the stick of beef jerky you had bought for him, taking a hesitant bite. When you stayed fast asleep, he chewed faster, scarfing the food down. 

When he thought about it, the only thing he had consumed in the past thirty hours was a cup of black coffee, and now he was not only starving, but he was parched. 

This daily regiment was draining him of his willpower. The only thing that aided him in persevering through this obstacle blocking his course of life, was you. You were the only thing he had to look forward to. He loathed the idea of reminiscing on the way things used to be before you snuck back into his life.

Everyday used to be spent working, and working and working, to the point that he would be forced by his uncle and associates to go home and get some rest. The moments that he spent alone in his apartment were worse than being cooped up in the office, though, because he had nothing to distract him from you. Other than the constant pain and the serious contemplations of ending his suffering. 

Despite that nefarious facade he deceived you with that day you were reacquainted, you saved him that day. That was the day he planned on saying goodbye to the world, and hopefully, but not logistically, saying hello to a better place. And then, you restored that aspiration in him, and reminded him with the simplest bat of your eyelashes, that there was no better place other than being together.


	11. Havoc & Holidays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This is a Christmas/Holiday special chapter**

──────────────  
1 week later...  
──────────────

With trembling fingers, you fumbled with your set of keys, teeth clattering as the cold winter air billows through the ajar window at the end of the hall. You rammed your apartment key into the lock, twisting it around arduously, before prying the door open with a grunt. 

Drearily— due to the late hours in which you arrived back to Chicago— you lugged your suitcases all the way to the laundry room. It was just a cubicle sized closet equipped with a washing machine and dryer. It was an improvement compared to the laundry sector in the basement of your last apartment, though.

Without bothering to rummage through your luggage and start your load of laundry tonight, you simply propped them in the corner of the small area, with little to no regards on when you would get to washing it all. 

For the past week, Poe has been in New York to visit Finn as they arranged a way to move him here with you. This meant you had the apartment to yourself for a couple of days, for the first time since you've made the drastic move. It was exhilarating and nerve-wracking all at once.

Slipping off your boots to avoid tracking snowy soot through the apartment, you shuffled along the mosaic floors in your fluffy, damp socks. You scrambled around, shucking off your clothes, leaving layers of your winter-wear in the wake of your quick strides. You would deal with the mess tomorrow— all you wanted right now was the soft embrace of your sheets, and the pale moonlight seeping through the drapes stringing along your window. 

When you stumbled into your bedroom, nearly stripped bare of your soaked, snow-peppered layers, you gasped at the sight before you. 

Kylo was just sitting there. Perched at the edge of your bed. The sapphire hue of the moon spilled through the panes of your window, illuminating the consequential features of his face. The shadow of his plump lips shifted into a faint snarl. 

"Jesus!" You howled out breathily, your hand flattening on your thundering heart, as a bewildered smile ghosted your lips. "What are you doing in here?"

His face remained stoic. Deadpan. Honey-speckled eyes with no avail raked in the sight of you tediously. His blinks were cautious, as if the smallest bristle would scare his tranquility away. His chest heaved gruelingly, the toned expanse peeking through his shirt with each labored breath he struggled to control. 

"What's wrong?" You drawled reluctantly, a ripple surfacing in between your eyebrows. 

He admired you for a moment. From the ethereal gleam of your damp, goose-pimpled skin, to the flakes of snow that glistened in your tousled hair. The rhythm of your lips, as you subconsciously nagged your bottom one with your teeth coyly. 

He responded with an incohesive murmur, before he leisurely dropped to his knees in front of you. You stared at him in befuddlement, your heart lodged in your throat, as his hands softly engulf your hips and lug you closer to him.

He peered up at you with a glint of defeat, and hurt, in his doe eyes. His rouge lips quivered into a pout. His eyes casted to your stomach. His forehead pressed into your abdomen softly, resting there, as his arms embraced the lower half of your body. He was silent, just sulking, his face digging into the pooch of your stomach that was protruding just a little. 

Your cheeks were flushed a sheepish ruby, as you recollected on all the information you indulged Vicrul with about the pregnancy. He told Kylo. Without asking you first. 

"Kylo... I'm so sorry." Your voice came out as a croaky bleat, soft and frail. Your fingers skimmed through his hair, massaging his scalp, as he sucked in a harsh breath. 

He pulled away slightly, removing his forehead from your skin that was once cold, and was now scorning with a flame of guilt. Those sad eyes trailed up your body, scrutinizing your eyes attentively, before falling back to your stomach. His calloused hand rested on the small, nearly imperceptible bump in your stomach, as if he was searching for the proof you harbored a child beyond the soft skin.

"Why would you tell him before me?" He asked, and you frowned when you detected the crack in his deep, enigmatic voice.

"I... I thought it would help me get it off my chest." You admitted timidly, his abrupt confrontation catching you off guard. "I was scared. I didn't want to upset you, I knew you were having a hard night that night." 

He blinked at you haphazardly, as if he merely obtained a word you just uttered. "Why would you be scared?" He pried, his jaw clenching. He ascended to his full height, and you cowered a bit, as he towered and loomed over you. 

"I would never let you do this alone." He insisted earnestly, his eyebrows woven together in bewilderment. "You know that, right?" 

When you only shifted from foot to foot, he released a deep, subdued sigh. He captured your jaw with his rough hand softly. "Look at me." He commanded, angling your face to be level with his, boring his solemn gaze through yours. 

"Everything's going to be alright." He indulged you with a reassuring smile, as you blinked at him, unconvinced. "You hear me? We're going to get through this." 

Guilt was bubbling in your gut. A boulder crushed the prosperities of your chest. When you opened your mouth to protest and render him the truth— the dishonorable truth about the baby festering inside your uterus— he intervened by caressing your cheek and whispering: 

"We're having a baby." 

His nearly giddy, heartfelt words caused your stomach to churn, smoldering the urge to puke in your gut. When you gagged, you noticed it was worse than an urge. You clasped a hand over your mouth, staggering to the bathroom attached to your suite. 

Kylo trailed you attentively, not nipping at your heels, but following you for stability. Once you collapsed into the floor, you embraced the bowl of the toilet, heaving. He collected a bundle of your hair, stroking it out of your face gingerly, holding it back, kneeling at your side.

His other hand maternally rubbed and patted your back, as you released the contents of your stomach. Once you were done, you hovered over the toilet just in case, ripping a square of toilet paper off of its roll and dabbing your lips clean. You were accustomed to throwing up at this point, but that didn't make it suck any less.

"Feel better?" He continued to rub your back, his hand snaking up to your shoulder and kneading it consolingly.

"A little." You chuckled at his comforting gesture, as he observed you with worried intent, staring at you vigilantly. "I could use some sleep."

He nodded empathetically, flashing you a sad smile. "We can talk about all of this tomorrow." He smoothed your tousled hair down, supplying your forehead a soft peck. 

After you brushed your teeth to mollify the vomit-taste that lingered, you collided into your mattress, sprawling your limbs out on top of the sheets. Kylo crawled into bed next to you, the mattress dipping and bed-frame creaking on his end. He gave your ass a playful tap and you giggled, shimmying into his build, molding into his body as he draped the comforter over your conjoined bodies. 

Another day, another opportunity to confront him about your betrayal thrown out the window.

***

"Buttercream or regular vanilla?" You hollered from over your shoulder, a canteen of both flavored frostings in your hands, as you skimmed over the labels. 

Kylo failed to stifle his snicker, as he strode up to your side, scooping them both out of your hands and scanning the nutritional facts as you craned your neck to stare up at him earnestly. He was devoted to maintaining a balanced diet, but his chest swelled with endearment everytime you swayed him into eating junk with you, and you could see the defeat in his eyes as he sighed and wordlessly tossed both of them into the cart. 

"What's left on the list?" He asked, his fingers interlocked with yours as he pushed the cart with you strolling by his side— no, skipping, by his side. You were cheerful this holiday season, only because you would spend it with the man you loved for the first time. Today, you both agreed to baking homemade cookies together and watching Christmas films. 

This morning, you got the consequential aspects of everything done. You scheduled a doctors appointment on Christmas Eve together, just to check that there was a baby growing inside of you like the dozens of tests you conjured had proven. Then you discussed the plan. Did you even want a baby? Did he even want a baby?

For you, the answer was floating around in murky waters. With the seed of cells that would sprout to be a baby one day harvesting in your body, it was difficult to decipher your own feelings on following through with it. First of all, you were not a child person. You always loathed the idea of growing up to be just another ordinary mother in an unhappy marriage. Long story short, you perceived children as a burden. 

On the contrary, when you fabricated the idea of having a future that involved a child with Kylo, you could confirm that the idea of brewing a family with him was growing on you. When you asked him for his opinion, he indulged you with his thoughts, that were strictly this: 

"If you're up for it, I want to see where this goes. I want a baby with you. I wasn't expecting this, and the shock hasn't worn off completely, but my mind is clear enough for me to determine that I am ready to start a family with you. But, It's your body. It's all up to you in the long run. And I'll support you regardless. There's always an opportunity to try again if it doesn't work out now." 

Although his support was endearing and reassuring... you were only distressed by his statement. It failed to appease your spiraling notion. It left all of the determination up to you. The substance of your future lied in your hands. 

You surrendered to the conversation by supplying him your own thoughts. You simply affirmed everything he said, agreeing with it all. Both of you chose to attend the appointment before settling on a choice. 

"Earth to lovie." Kylo drawled, snapping his fingers at you softly from across the isle, as you blinked profusely to recollect yourself. "How about these?" 

He waved a package of piping bags at you, studying it seriously, pointing at the label. "It says we can decorate the cookies with these. That would be good... right?" He asked mundanely, handing the box over and eyeing you. 

Although he refused to admit it, he was just as ecstatic to bake cookies as you were. Holidays as a child were spent listening to his parents bicker, and his uncle puppeteering his every movement. No traditions. Only suffering, and listening to every other child swoon over the delicacy of the Holidays, as he merely grappled onto his sanity by a thread. 

"Yeah!" You exclaimed, tossing them into the cart, as he smirked in satisfaction with himself. "I have cookie cutters back at the apartment. So we should have all the supplies we need."

After you re-evaluated your grocery list a couple of times, you checked out and returned to your apartment. The fresh paint scent still lingered as you peeled the front door open, both of you shucking off your coats and carelessly draping them over the arm of the couch. 

You garnered yourself in an apron, and he mimicked this choice... by cladding himself in the old Chef Daddy apron you had supplied him as a joke nearly a year and a half ago. Apparently he packed it with him once he left, as a way to treasure the memories you once shared. When he was a teacher, and you were his student... Boy, have things changed. 

Ten months, and you were expecting a baby, and Kylo was endeavored like a puppet by the strings of his loathsome uncle. You both moved to a brand new city. You were employed by America's most prized photography agency. You couldn't tell if things were molding together, or falling apart...

"Um... do you have butter?" He asked heedfully, his eyebrows drawn together as he rummaged through your fridge, ducking his head to minimize the length of his loafing height. "We didn't buy some, and I can't find any."

You sighed with a barely coherent grumble. "No, I don't. We ran out last week." 

A glint of disappointment flickered upon his face. He grunted, "I knew we were forgetting something." He murmured gruffly, plopping down on a barstool in your kitchen. "Now our day is ruined." 

You had to stifle a laugh. 

There's my dramatic man-baby, you thought. Eyeing him with a prudent smirk.

"Ky... It's going to be okay." You confronted him with a soft, feather-light chuckle, addressing his broad shoulders. Kneading them with forceful strokes of your thumb, as he let out a low, content sigh. 

"Haven't you heard of the applesauce trick?" You hummed into his ear lowly, nibbling on his earlobe, before planting tantalizing kisses on the side of his neck. 

His pulse rumbled into your mouth as he uttered his next words, his breathing pattern wavering. "What applesauce trick?" He angled his head to study you curiously, fingers tracing your jaw and gingerly easing your lips away from his throat. 

You pressed your forehead into his, noses brushing together in a subtle eskimo kiss: it was a habit for you and Kylo. Your thing, if you will. His hand caressed it's way down to your neck, resting on the side. Your gazes were locked as you grinned at him cheekily.

"Well, my grandmother taught me how to use applesauce as a substitute for butter." You mused, and his smirk faltered as if he was bewildered and shocked by your statement. He pulled away from you enough for his eyes to train on yours without fabricating a blur.

"Applesauce?" He sputtered, cocking a brow, the ghost of a grimace loitering on his lips.

You escaped his embrace, shuffling your way over to the fridge. He followed you nearly giddily, lugging his big, cumbersome frame over to you. He watched attentively as you grabbed the tub of applesauce out of your pantry and placed it down on the counter with the rest of your baking supplies. 

You directed him to the drawer that contained all of your cooking necessities, and he untucked the measuring cups. You worked in unison, blaring Christmas classics, as you dumped all of the sugar cookie ingredients into a bowl. 

When it was time to pour the applesauce into the mixture, you guided him through the steps. He made it painstakingly clear that he lacked a childhood where baking and dancing together was common, and you were determined to make this Christmas special for him.

Your small hand guided his monstrous one as he scooped up two Cups of applesauce. He glanced at you for reassurance, and you rewarded him with a proud smile.

In all honesty, It was upsetting to watch a grown man smile at the sheer thought of baking cookies, just because he lacked a patient, traditional family. 

You eyed him somberly, suppressing a grin, as he bobbed his head in rhythm with Jingle Bell Rock and stirred the cookie mix briskly. His apron was snug, clinging onto his brawny frame in all the right places, accentuating his muscles. 

He was adorable, and intimidating all at once. His towering build was swaying stiffly with the upbeat music. His brooding, stoic face was housing a nearly jolly smile. All of it was vanquished when he caught you admiring him. His smile faltered sheepishly and he cleared his throat, straightening his posture.

"Since when was Chef Daddy shy?" You mused, snickering mischievously when he liberated you with a playful glare. 

He lugged the dough out of the bowl, molding it with his massive, veiny hands. He flashed you a befuddled look as if he was lost, aimlessly peering around at his surroundings. You pointed to the clean countertop. He slapped it down on the granite surface, as you strutted over with the rolling pin in your grasp.

He took a step back, allowing room for you, before reacquainting himself with the spot behind you. His chest swelled calmly into your back, his fingers interlocking with yours as you rolled the dough out together. Even though he was no help: his lips were latching onto your pulse in soft, passionate kisses, as you did all the work. 

You let out a soft mewl and he smirked into your skin, removing one hand from the roller to rest on the opposite side of your neck, his palm flattening on your hair and tangling into a strand as he nipped at your neck. 

"We need to behave ourselves." You warned, only for your words to emit from your lips in a tantalized sigh. You swiveled around, smearing a powdery strand of flour that you had sneaked into your hand across his nose. He slightly recoils at your abrupt movement with a scoff, his hand dipping into the jar of flour and blasting you in the face with a collection of powder. 

You flinched, as you feel the flour lap up on your scrunched up face, your jaw dropped in astonishment. Kylo barked out a guttural laugh, rolling up his crisp sleeves, narrowing his eyes at you pretentiously. 

"Are you sizing me up right now, old man?" 

He leisurely cocked a brow at you.

"Oh?" He drawled monotonously. 

You laughed nervously, swallowing down your candor and sudden arousel at the sight of his lethargic anger. You started indenting the dough with cookie cutters, as he sighed, and disappeared through the threshold of your bedroom. 

Your eyes darted up to the door apprehensively, as you heard him rummage around the bedroom.

"Uh, Kylo?" You shouted bashfully.

He never responded. In the meanwhile, you managed to slip two trays— that had already been greased up with some vegetable oil— into the oven, setting the timer with twiddling fingers. 

Kylo emerges from the threshold with an enigmatic smirk splaying on his lips, and a tiny box garbed in delicate red ribbon in his hands. He zoned in on you possessively, his hazel irises fogged with malevolence. 

"Come here." He beckoned you with his long fingers. Glimpses of the old, infatuating Kylo that you craved were flashing before you like a kaleidoscope of desire. Of course you obliged without an ounce of reluctance. 

You halted in front of him, peering up at him through your eyelashes coyly. 

"Good girl." He praised lowly, his voice dropping a few octaves, as he rewarded you by petting your hair. "Now turn around for me." 

You complied to his orders and swiveled around eagerly, nibbling on your bottom lip.

He deliberately untwined the ribbon from the velvety box. He caught you off guard by snatching a bundle of your hair with his hands, softly tying your locks into a loose ponytail. 

"Close your eyes." He whispered into your ear, tone ravenous and titillating, as his lips ghosted your earlobe. You shuddered, your eyelashes fluttering shut. 

A bristle and clank of silver could be discerned. You could feel his bulky arms crowding around your head, as he draped the cold silver over your collarbone. He clasped a latch together on the nape of your neck. 

"I was going to wait until Christmas—" he growled softly, the sneer in his tone audible as you fought off the urge to open your eyes. "But you're in desperate need of a subtle reminder, on who owns you. Who do you belong to, little one?"

Your whole body tingled with inclination. Your breathing patterns escalated. Your heart throbbed in your chest, as you mewled the words: "I belong to you. All of me, is yours."

He hummed bleakly in approval. He traced ornate, daunting patterns into your shoulder with his fingertips. 

"Open." He demanded. 

Your eyes snapped open on command, flickering to the delicate, pure silver necklace cladding your neck.

You gasped with a beaming smile, fingers tracing the heart emblem dangling from the dainty chain. Your cheeks were scarlet with sheepishness when you noted the words, Daddys Little Girl, carved in opulent cursive. 

"The necklace stays on. Unlike your collar, It's suitable for public. Even work." 

You nodded, fiddling with the silver pendent, biting the corner of your lip seductively as you pivoted back around to face him. 

His honeysuckle-like eyes had softened. His hand caressed your cheek, and you purred, prodding yourself deeper into his touch. 

"Look. I know... that the decision we make at the appointment next week will determine a lot about our future." He started, and you could feel the lust withering up and dying inside of you from the brief mention of your ordeal. "But no matter what happens. You will always be my baby. Understand?"

You smiled, a wave of tranquility washing over you. "Yes. I understand." You whispered.

"Good." He smirked, scuffling with your hair playfully, just as the oven chimes to indicate that your cookies were done baking. "Let's decorate these cookies, shall we?"


	12. The Hunt

Kylo's clammy hand was eloped with yours unyieldingly. Egregiously tight. Apprehensively stroking your thumb. His hazel eyes attentively locked on the screen, that articulated developed photos of the fetus growing and festering within your stomach. 

The nurse was housing a hospitable smile, gingerly swiping the transducer over the small, protruding bump of your abdomen. Smearing the cold, seafoam gel around. 

You were both silent. His hand was crushing yours in trepidation, nearly popping your blood vessels, as he blinks at it leisurely. Consuming the sight before him. Trying to fabricate the reality of all of this. 

You were just as befuddled. Turmoil sheathed your conscious, making it ten thousand times harder to render your scrambled thoughts. 

Your heart raced, a persistent thump rattling in the back of your scratchy throat. You squeezed Kylo's hand back when the nurse broadcasted her next words giddily: 

"Would you like to know the gender?" She asked softly, eyes flickering between Kylo, who sucked in a sharp breath, and you, wide eyed.

His eyes raked you in heedfully, peering down at you attentively. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, anticipating your response. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed the sticky lump kindling in his throat. 

You met his vigilant gaze, before glancing sheepishly at the nurse. "Can we talk to the doctor first?" You asked hopefully, flinching at yourself, recoiling as the metal surface of the transducer applied one final skim to your stomach. 

She nodded vigorously. "Not a problem. He'll be right in." She stated, scooping up her medical tray of transportable supplies and sauntering out of the compact exam room without another word.

You exhaled a hefty heap of air, that you had unintentionally been harboring in your lungs. The cold jelly loitered on your flesh. You scowled down at it, shimmying in your sprawled position upon the cot, staring up at Kylo with a frown. 

"Do you wanna know the gender?" He asked, eyeing you gingerly, earnestly. 

You shrugged indifferently, surveying his calloused hand that cradles and dwarfs yours. Grip vice-like, even without the nurse building your apprehensions brick by brick. 

"If we do, we'll feel obligated to keep it." You exclaim pointedly. The nerves and morning sickness churning in your gut. 

"We don't want to keep it?" He breathed, trying to stifle the alertness in his gruff tone. 

"Do we want to?" You shoot back, eyebrows knitting together, grimacing.

His defensive, piqued expression boiled, only to simmer out a second later. A scoff of defeat crawls up his throat. His free hand thats not intertwined with yours snakes over your stomach, flattening on the bump, spreading the cold gel as he caresses softly.

"Our baby is in danger if we follow through with this." His ravenous voice dropped to a growly whisper. Eyes casted to your baby bump, averting from yours solemnly. 

Your hand slithers down your sensitive stomach to rest on top of his. He was right. With his dangerous, nearly notorious role under his uncles bustling cartel "agency" — it would be inevitable that your child faces the detrimental dangers of it all. 

"You're right." You admit dolefully, sniffling. Tears prickle at your eyes. 

In all honesty, you thought having a baby would be beneficial for your chaotic relationship. It would anchor Kylo Ren to you. He could never abandon you, alone and dysfunctional, with a child— right? He couldn't do that to you— again— if you had the baby that belonged to him. Right? 

If the child belonged to someone else, though...

The doctor knocks quaintly, idly, before peeking through the crack he surfaced in the heavy door. He waltzed into the room, content and earnest, garbed in his drab white trench coat. Clipboard tucked under his feeble arm. He scrubbed a dollop of hand sanitizer into his latex-gloved hands, plopping down into the squeaky chair perched next to your cot.

"Good morning." He directed to you, uttering your name in confrontation, as you nod and permit him a faltering smile. 

His eyes scan Kylo, and he offers him an equally as professional smile, extending his hand for him to shake. "And you must be Vicrul!" He cheered, "You've got big changes comin', man." He quipped, shaking his now limp hand quickly. 

Your heart plummeted to your feet. Features beat red, tingling, bruised crimson with anguish. Your breath hitches in your lungs, as you snap your head up to look at Kylo, whose hand had shred away from yours in the matter of a millisecond. 

His face was eerily mollified, collected. He was frozen. His anger was tactile, just from the flame of pure fury that scorned in his blackened irises. Breaths labored, broad chest swelling with each second that ticked by. The air was heavy with disdain, as if you were patiently anticipating the moment a clanking time bomb would set off. 

It felt like hours before he sneered down at the bewildered doctor with a snark of contempt, "What did you just call me?" He drawled painstakingly slowly. 

"Vicrul." The doctor retorted, studying the clipboard. "My apologies, is it pronounced differently?"

Kylo's expression was purely deadpan as he extended his hand and aggressively shook the doctors, nearly snapping his wrist in half. "It's Kylo." He spat, before snatching his hand away, and stomping to the door. 

"Ky, wait!" You objected, flimsily rolling the hospital gown that you were clad in back down, the crinkled hem tumbling to your thighs. You hopped off of the cot, scampering over to catch him, as he plows through the platoons of nurses and doctors flooding the office.

"Please, stop!" You shouted croakily, stumbling on your own feet. Nausea was nipping at your core, and you tried to suppress the sensation, trying not to lose him in the vague but compressed crowd. 

His long legs were nearly trembling as he propels through all of the people, smashing and slamming into anyone that dared to obscure his path towards the exit of the clinic.

"Where are you going?" You pleaded, shimmying through the crowd, bleating out apologies to anyone you crashed into.

He was a beast— snarling, heaving, grunting, as he pried patients and nurses out of his way, thunderously stampeding across the floor. He belligerently, savagely shredded the entrance of the clinic open. Emerging from the building with a huff, striding to the Porsche. 

"Kylo!" You hissed breathlessly. 

The double-glass doors already swung shut before you could catch up with him. You were panting, stifling the urge to vomit, shakily folding at the waist and clasping your knees. A few nurses noted your exhausted disposition and scurried over to you, aiding you over to the nearest couch. 

The alleviation was only temporary as your breaths evened out. Eyes locked on the glass doors, as the Porsche whirs and screeches by exuberantly, flying by in a spurt of black. You had to choke back tears to conceal the vomit bubbling in your queasy stomach, watching somberly, as he zooms off.


	13. Daddy Issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy content such as references to miscarriage and child abuse/neglect are implied drastically in this chapter.

The chime of your phone ringing reverberates around the condensed walls of the tiled clinic bathroom. You choke out a weak sob, looming over the toilet bowl, stifling another round of vomit. You meekly outstretched your hand, fingertips ghosting your phone, that rests and vibrates upon the basin.

You heaved, lifting your phone feebly, glimpsing the bright screen. An unknown number illuminated the screen. You disregarded it, slamming your phone back down blatantly, coughing. 

The phone rings again.

You grimace, snatching it back up, answering without reluctance. "Hello?" You spat, voice croaky with abhorrence and fatigue. 

An oddly familiar voice drawls your name apprehensively. Vicrul. 

"Vic?" You rasped, subconsciously straightening your posture, effortlessly using your knuckles to wipe your lips clean. 

"What's happening?" He asks, trying to suppress the panic in his tone. "Kylo has gone fucking mad. My brother called me, told me he was just destroying shit at the office. What the hell happened?" 

You release a strained gasp. "Where are you?" You ask heedfully. 

"In the car. On my way to see what's happening. What's going on?" He demands. 

"Don't go to the office. Please." You muttered the name of the clinic, "Could you make it here? I think there's... um... something we should talk about." 

There was a trepidating pause on the opposite end of the line, as it all dawns on him. 

"I'll be there in a few." His voice had lowered a few octaves. 

"Thank you." You whisper sheepishly.

The line goes dead and you sigh somberly, finger tracing the emblems of the new necklace Kylo had gifted you. 

***

Vicrul rushes through the compact hallways of the clinic. Pivoting sharp corners, managing deep breaths. Hands crammed into his pockets, shoulders high-strung in turmoil, cheeks harboring all of the air escaping his lungs. 

His stature was loafing as he loomed over the reception desk. Murmuring your name to the friendly attendant. Her dainty fingers arduously slammed into the blocky, outdated keyboard. Vicrul tapped his foot anxiously, glaring at her, as she tediously skimmed through the list of patients occupying the clinic.

"It's kind of an emergency." He hisses, nibbling on the corner of his lip. 

"Ah, yes." She clucks her tongue to the roof of her mouth and breathes nervously, eyes darting up to his heedfully. "She's... in a lot of distress. Room 13, down that way." She points.

He waves an idle hand of dismissal and trudges through the foyer, practically prowling down the narrow hall that reeked of stale antiseptics. He halted in front of the door that read 'Room 13' on a silver plaque. Knocking softly, he leisurely pushed the door open, poking his head in first. 

Your cheeks were flushed pink and tear stained. A nurse was using a disposable cloth to wipe the gel off of your stomach, as you sipped on a styrofoam cup of water and sniffled. The nurse was making an attempt to mollify your stress by blabbering on and on about personal stories of her son— he could tell by the bleak glint of despair in your eyes, that it was only making you feel infeasibly worse. 

"Hey." You greeted sorrowfully, lips tugging into a sad, taut smile. 

He hazardously creeped into the room, eyes scanning you over cautiously. "Hey." He shoots back slowly, glancing at the nurse. 

"We're planning on transferring her to the Emergency room." The nurse intervened, and Vicruls eyes widened as he vigilantly lowered himself into the seat perched next to your bed. "She's undergoing a lot of stress, and it's detrimental for the baby."

Blinking slowly, he eyes you charily, as you shamefully stare down at your twiddling thumbs, tears brimming your eyelids. His eyes flicker back to the nurse.

"D-detrimental?" He shifted, stuttering out his words. Should we be talking about this around her? He thought, swallowing harshly.

The nurse nodded curtly. "Deadly. Unfortunately, your baby is in danger." 

Vicruls tongue swells, his heart pauses mid-beat. "My baby?" He rasped, mouth agape, his blown eyes flashing to you in pure fear and befuddlement.

A tear slithered down your cheek, your breath hitching. You winced and rubbed your aching stomach, as cramps start to pierce your uterus. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault." You sob, your hands sheepishly shielding your crimson face, as you cried softly into them. 

The nurse took that as a cue to leave, frowning at the downcasting scene unfolding in front of her. "I'll be back in a few." She whispered to Vicrul, and he nodded, shuffling closer to you.

"Our fault." He corrects, kneading your shoulder platonically to comfort you. This is the second time he has watched you cry in front of him, and he hates it just as much as he did the first time. 

"She's not going to make it." You whimpered, lips quivering, tears steaming down your cheeks.

"She?" He demanded. His heart malfunctioned, his eyes bulging, pudgy skin a ghostly white. His eyes darted to the small bump of your stomach as you nodded, mewling.

"The d-doctor told me the g-gender." You blubbered, "I didn't ask for any of this." You wailed, dabbing your tears dry with a crinkled, overused tissue. 

"None of us did." He exclaimed earnestly. Shaking his head, his sandy locks swaying with the brisk movement, his hand found yours and gingerly rested on top of it. "We'll figure all of this out... once he calms down. For now, let's just get you to a hospital. Okay?" 

You clasped onto his hand gratefully for comfort. Nodding robustly, staring at him with hopeful, glossy eyes. "I'm scared, Vic..." You admitted under your breath, your futile words trembling as they escaped your lips like air.

"It's okay. Everything will be fine." He insists, observing you consequentially.

On the inside, his sanity was deteriorating, bit by bit, fiber by fiber. That day he crossed paths with you— he succumbed to the infatuation that you unintentionally curated. Now, he was paying for that one. Stupid. Fucking. Deed. That one, lewd, lustrous deed that will now impact the substance of his very future. Him... the father of a baby girl, the mother of his child, a wanderlust woman whom didn't even belong to him?

Did Vicrul wish that said girl did belong  
to him, though?

Yes. He did. Imperatively.

Was Vicrul screwed?

Double yes.

Not only because of his irrational, salacious desires— but because he was to deal with the beast of angry Kylo Ren— which was a feat that no breathing organism would ever be prepared to conquer.

The nurse sauntered her way back into the room. "We managed to reserve a room for you at the hospital down the block." She stated, stacking your pile of neatly folded clothes on the bedside table. 

"Good luck." She supplied you both with a moderate smile. 

***

The drive to the hospital was not alleviating in the slightest. No— you swore you were going to black out due to the amount of anxiety frittering and flaring throughout your body. Vicrul tried his best to console you, uttering praises and aspirations, failing to fabricate that antidote you needed in order to be cured from the stress coursing through your system.

You had called Kylo a copious amount of times, only to be rendered the distressing beep of the signal cutting dead. He was a madman on the lose. According to Cardo, one of his associates, he was deranged; completely unhinged. Abolishing random articles of furniture and equipment decking the office. They ended up having to call the "ruler" of the hierarchy, Luke Skywalker, to detain his nephew, who had gone ballistic on every form of life that loitered his wrath. Vicrul hasn't been permitted any further information on the matter. 

That could mean two things:

They managed to mollify Kylo, revoke him of his fury and craving for vengeance. 

Or. 

There would be no tomorrow for those that interfered with his course of chaos. 

His absence in this moment was horrifying on your behalf. You've experienced the diverting end of his anger, before, and that was when you could endure the torment without fear of losing the product festering within your uterus. Now you were a tag-team of two, and you can't undergo the stealth of his bitter blade furthermore without risking the life that blossoms inside of you.

You clutch the charm dangling from your necklace, hoping to appease your own trepidation with the knowledge that you were loved by the same man that had hurt you before, and left you pondering on if he would inflict that pain on you even now, with a baby harvesting in your stomach. 

It was meant to be his baby. 

The last thing you wanted was to have this baby and raise a daughter all on your own. You couldn't do that to her. Force her to live without a father. You grew up without one. And you couldn't put her through the damaging process of anticipating the moment her dad would finally step in and tell her how much he loved her. Because once he was gone, he was never going to come back.

"How's she doing in there?" Vicrul quipped nervously, temporarily averting his concentration from the road to glance at you.

You chuckled breathily, defeatedly. "I don't know about her, but I know I'm starving." You jeered lightly, and Vicrul huffed in amusement.

"Well, we could get you some food..." He trailed off when you seethed through gritted teeth, cradling your cramping stomach. "Or, you know, we can get to the hospital now." He corrected, flooring the pedal briskly, maneuvering through traffic manically. 

Once you arrived to the hospital, you were tended to and assisted in a matter of seconds, being wheeled off to a private room for testing and treatment. 

Vicrul was imprisoned in your grasp, forced to be the muse to your vice grasp— he was your stress ball. You squeezed his hand brashly enough to crunch his knuckles and bruise his fingers, every time a mini-contraction would torment your uterus. IV's and cords garbed your body, as doctors and obstetricians compelled multiple tests to certify that everything with the baby's health— and your own— was up to par.

Only, your vitals were running low, and your health was decaying with each contraction. 

Vicrul was struggling to grasp the reality of all of this. Struggling to submit to the fact that he wormed himself into this predicament to begin with. All he could fabricate was his significance. He had a huge rule to fulfill in this moment, with Kylo undergoing enraged hypnosis. He has to take care of you until the man you actually love can. 

***

Kylo Ren stands tall and cumbersome, in the dead center of a meticulous aisle, of a luxury baby store in downtown New York. Frozen, heaving, blood dribbling down his sweaty chin. He sniffles. Crimson continues to paint his upper lip as it seeps from his left nostril. 

He continues to stride dauntingly, eyes surveying the opulent quilts, and rattles, and tiny toys designed for the equally as tiny hands of an infant. He doesn't know how he got here. He was intoxicated, blinded, by his own rage. His leather-clad feet had carried him here on their own fortuitous accord. 

His adrenaline had fully ascended its peak. It pulsated in every crevice of his body, buzzing in his core, throbbing in his gut. He has yet to digest the complexities of everything that had been uncovered just moments before. Had it been minutes? Hours? A whole day? 

His immoral thoughts were scrambled, brain feeble mush. All he can bring himself to do is pace the aisle. Up. Down. Up. Down. Memorizing every corner and pivot embarked into the shelves of baby product, doodling an image of what your future together could've looked like— if he hadn't chased you into the embrace of his best friend all those months ago.

Of course, he refused to take the fault for his actions. He would never blame himself for corrupting that exuberant, happy image of a family he had built with you in his head. But he could never blame you either. In his eyes, you were always an angel, unharmable and pure, despite your mistakes. 

This meant his hatred could only lie in one other detestable place. 

Vicrul. 

He was going to kill him. 

And not in the metaphorical essence. 

He was going to kill him. 

And all of the memories he shared with the man who had grown to be his brother, were going to die with him. Were going to be buried alongside him in the very pit he'll dig out with his own overworked hands if he must. 

He has killed for you once. 

He has killed on his own accord, countlessly, for the sake of saving the business from money-hungry, scamming sharks, and opposing forces of the drug game. 

And he will eliminate anything that interferes with his opportunity to finally have a real family. All he fucking wanted was a family. He has never had a family.

He just wanted to make up for the love his father had lacked: he just wanted to spoil his own child with the love his dad had run low on before he could experience it for himself. He just wanted the opportunity to make up for all that his father refused to render him.

He would devote himself to being the best father ever. Even if that meant disregarding his job and moving to the quaint countryside in a disheveled cottage with you just to live that dream out. He would do anything to be the perfect dad for your baby. 

His father had beat him to the pulp as an adolescent, marking him with the blemishes of his abuse. Bruises, cuts, scars. The jagged scar from his fathers blade was still embedded into his toned back, warped with healed tissue, but just as puffy and slender as ever. It was a scar you were aware of ever since the first time you laid eyes on him shirtless— and you only ever tried to touch it once. 

He just wanted the opposite for his children.

Was he wrong for wishing such things? 

Were his desires that selfish?

His hands were tarnished with the dry, burgundy blood of his culprits. He had injured a handful of unsuspecting people during his fit of fury. A punch here and a pound there. He was blatant, nonchalant about every harmful infliction he displayed. It was a quality he gained from his alcoholic father. Not a good one, clearly. Blood only stained the hands of the deranged. 

His deranged hands, in this case, outstretched cautiously to grasp a little binky off of the shelf. He stared at it, expression deadpan, blood still peppering his features. He blinked at the small object. Trying to make amends with his own wounded mind. Trying to understand where he went wrong. With the essence of his past resurfacing mingling with the tactile pain that was conveyed by today's news, everything was starting to spiral together.

Into one condensed blur. He had forgotten the simple morals of life. Forgotten how to function without demolishing anything with a face or capability to interfere with his clouded plans. He was going insane. 

He heedfully placed the binky back, strolling loafingly up and down the aisle. As if an answer to his staggering thoughts would simply appear on one of the shelves if he looked hard enough. 

His phone vibrated in his back pocket for the umpteenth time. It distracted him from his murky, dazed mind. He fumbled for his phone, untucking it with clammy, crimson digits. He only glimpsed your name before swiping to answer it and holding it to his ear.

He stayed silent. 

All he could hear was breathing, and the slow, faint beeping of a heart monitor.

"Kylo." 

It was Vicrul. 

His fist belligerently clamped around his phone, that was already dwarfed in comparison to his monstrous red hand. The screen housed a few cracks. His vision was growing to be just as red as his bloodied hands. 

"You need to get to the hospital." He uttered solemnly, his voice poignant and heavy with grief. "Something happened to..." He paused, before breathing your name. "Just hurry." 

The line went dead. And every fiber of rage that built and latched onto the molecules rendering in his body faded. All he could feel now, was pure fear. 

He could not lose you. 

He already lost a sacramental part of him when he learned that the baby didn't belong to him.

He could not lose you, too.


	14. Let her Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional WARNING// Abusive content, talk of miscarriage and denial, Bipolar Disorder (BPD), extreme sadness.

Kylo had distanced himself from you.

To protect you. 

It was all he could do to ensure your safety, with the burden of guilt that now plagued him. Looming over him like a desolate, gloomy shadow.

To busy himself from the ravenous thoughts that dismantled his mind, he had been engrossing himself with work. Using it as a tool to alleviate the problem that was his transient mental condition.

It all started when the Doctor delivered the detrimental news about his relation to the baby.

He closed himself off completely. 

He had to.

The demons were whispering dangerous things into his ear, sneering lies, that encompass his brain and mobilize his body.

He was detaching himself from everything he knew. That was his reliable defense mechanism— disassociating himself from anything and everything that bestowed itself as a sanctuary upon him.

You were one of those things. Celestially his, an escape from all things immoral. There were times like this, when he persuaded himself into believing that he was undeserving of the affection you rendered him. 

His instinct was like a gyrate in his gut that he could not disregard, or shove aside, no matter how hard he tried to battle his old ways that were emerging from the darkest depths of his melancholic soul.

The demons stimulating in his mind were growling, barking, sniding—

Leave her.

Run away. 

Forget about everything.

You don't deserve her.

She's better off without you.

She could never love a monster like you.

This is all your fault.

And despite his exterior that was brooding and formidable, his insides were shriveling, deteriorating with each spew of bitterness that his demons wormed into his brain. 

We lost our little girl. I lost my baby. It's my fault. Everything's my fault. Everything—

His fist throttles through the luxurious screen of his desktop computer, winding back, drilling through it on a repetitive loop of raw, untamed vexation. He sputters grunts through clenched teeth, pounding his fist through the screen, sparks eliciting through the air and zapping his bloodied hand.

He results in scooping the entire computer off of his desk, propelling it to the ground with all of the pint-up rage he exercises. Sending shards, and wires, and glass soaring throughout the room. Cracking, dismantling, demolishing everything in his wake as he paces the mosaic floors of his office. 

His raging excursions only spurred his fit-of-fury on infeasibly more. He couldn't detain himself from every act of anger he inflicted— not before the only remnants of his opulent office were the fluorescent chandeliers beaming overhead, and the tiles below his Oxford-clad feet.

Just like that, the switch flickers in his mind. The switch that had embedded itself upon encountering the unfortunate news.

Without even acknowledging the disastrous peril he imposed, he shreds his overpriced, designer blazer off of his broad build, slinging it over the crook of his elbow, plowing through every single corridor that stands in his way.

"Sir, are you—" Ap'lek cuts his words short, as he surveys the way his boss stampedes through the abundance of cubicles. Radiating hostility with each warped stride.

"Maintenance to my office. Now." He orders, voice low and grizzly. His command rumbles throughout the office— that was bustling, despite the idealistics that it was eight in the evening.

"Yes, sir." Ap'lek chimes obediently, mumbling orders into the trite, silver ear piece lodged into his ear.

Kylo was already strolling broodingly through the polished elevator doors, coarse vexation conveying his strides. 

His anger sustained itself like a tumor in his chest, sparking, festering, expanding through his limbs and traversing through his every incensed fiber. It was deadly; minacious. A menacing cavern that submerged all of his wicked cruelty into a dark, untouchable place. A place that could only be liberated through the light of a specific match that flared his fury, a place he never hoped to unveil ever again.

His demons broke out into hysteric, diabolical laughter from the cave of his immorality— he could hear the malicious snickers and warped wails echoing now, patronizing his eagerness to contain this anger, that the demons knew all too well. The anger he had let consume him on countless occasions before.

"No," he murmurs hoarsely to himself, pounding the heel of his palm into his temple, kneading it briskly. The elevator whirs with a robust whoosh, floundering down dozens of levels, aiding Kylo's irritation. "No."

The cognitive part of him that lingered in this buzz of raging adrenaline flaring throughout his body was screaming at him to make the right choice— and go home. To his penthouse. Alone. To drink his apprehensions away, worm the demons back into the forbidden depths where they belonged. 

But the rest of him, that was perverse and clipped with ferocity, was gravitating towards a release. There was only one person he would ever be inclined to seek that sort of elation out of. 

And he was heading your way.

***

A freshly poured shot-glass of chilled tequila antagonizes you from upon the granite countertop. The condensation beading in cool droplets, cascading down the small glass— a taunt. The clear liquid that was oxidized with an intolerance for sanity rippling, as you adjust yourself on your barstool.

You've been sober for... months. 

Between the pregnancy and your new profound career, there was no room to squeeze in a good ol' concoction. 

Alcohol addiction; it was a tormenting battle you went defenselessly at war with, nearly constantly, for a decent chunk of your life— specifically the chunk in which Kylo fled and you were left to fend and cope absentmindedly on your own accord.

In his absence, alcohol filled the Kylo Ren-shaped hole that gauged your soul. It was substantial from the start, an escape from the pain. The agony. Back then, when you were younger, unprincipled and purely naive— you relied on him. For everything. He was that beam that mounted your sensibility. The beam that wobbled and came crashing down, discarding you in the ruinous rubbles.

The alcohol only numbed the dread that swarmed your conscious, only brimmed the sinkhole of emptiness that pierced your being with a coercing craving for more. And more. And more.

You thought you had been winding down the moral path smoothing you to recovery.

But after everything you had endured these past few weeks, a drink would suffice. The thought of a sheathed conscious and gnarly hangover had never sounded more appealing.

You knock back the shot, writhing. The tequila burns your throat like a scorn, bidding you a scolding for indulging in one of the two things that had hurt you as opposed to heal you on countless occasions before.

The second thing was— unbeknownst to you— on his way now.

You chug down a couple pints, straight from the bottle. Clammy digits embracing the glass bottle, that squelches and slips in your trembly grasp. Sweat beading on the nape of your neck, hairline, clavicle— every crevice of your skin was blanketed in a sheen of perspiration.

You had burnt the dinner you begrudgingly cooked in preparation for yourself. Poe was in New York with Finn, per usual. 

And Kylo was not your Kylo anymore.

Your Kylo would've sat here and ate your shitty take on an opulent, homemade meal. With the fakest smile one could harvest, stifling the urge to vomit at the horrendous taste as he scarfed it down in an attempt at making you feel better.

He was the epitome of the walking dead right now. Merely just a deadpan face and a hulking body, hollowed out and empty on the inside.

The thought in itself elicits a primal sob out of you. A choked out whine.

The handle of your front door rattles aggressively. Followed by the belligerent pounding of a fist, shaking the whole door, rapturing different objects that scattered your apartment.

"Open the door," that husky voice booms from the urbane hallway.

Something villainous leaks into his dark tone, dripping like malicious molasses, muffled by the door that... feels as if it's protecting you.

You stagger as you hop off of the stool, skulking across the floor in dainty little socks that clad your two left feet. Heedfully, you move to access the door— when another pound of his fist follows the next jangle of the handle.

Another pound. Quaking through your apartment, somehow even more boisterous than the last.

"Open the door," he repeats lowly, loud enough for you to discern, quiet enough to send a ping of trepidation straight to your core.

As you sluggishly glide across the floor, rushing to fiddle with the locks and allow him access to your messy apartment, the crack of the doorframe splintering irks you to scramble to a stop.

Another crack.

"Kylo!" You shriek when realization dawns on you, the door pummeling open, smacking into the wall forcefully enough to embellish cracks.

He barges in, with little to no accounting for the destruction he had caused. Swinging the door shut, allowing it to slam into the now dysfunctional doorframe.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The words quiver from your lips in astonishment. Bloodshot eyes flickering over his every abysmal movement, eyebrows pinched together. 

He stalks quietly through the main foyer, approaching your kitchen. You gulp as he maneuvers around the counter without acknowledging the half-empty bottle of tequila perching there. He slings his blazer over one of the barstools. Rummages through your cabinets, fishes out a glass. 

He proceeds to run the tap, aggressively working the handles, not offering you a glimpse of eye contact in the process of him briskly filling the glass of the cities poisonous water. A coil of his rugged, raven hair billows into his face, tickling his nose as he brings the glass swiftly to his lips.

He chugs it relentlessly— adam's apple bobbing, veins in his neck protruding, the water dribbling down his chin and splattering all over his button-up shirt, that was unbuttoned just enough to reveal his clavicle. Water cascades down his chest, winding through the ridges of his toned flesh, tickling his skin.

He licks his plump lips, slamming down his glass. Eyeing his surroundings cautiously. Avoiding your general direction, as his hazel eyes rake over the disaster that makes up your apartment. Between the shards that had flaked from the door he had kicked down, and your lack of dedication to your normal, ritualistic cleaning routine— it was demolished.

His gaze falls to the bottle of tequila.

His eye twitches. But he doesn't move. He only stares at it, as if he was engraving the image of the ordinary bottle of tequila into his mind.

The air stills. The Earth seems to have halted its spiraling upon its axis. The moons seemed to merge, align. A suffocating frigidness surges throughout the foyer.

His palm strikes through the bottle, sending it plummeting into the floor with a catastrophic shatter of glass.

The shards crackle, as the alcohol seeps through the floor, accumulating in an expanding puddle.

"K-Kylo," you attempt to minimize the tremors that wrack your body, refraining from looking at the chunks of glass that litter the floor. "Please. Don't..." you trail off, as he rounds the counter, carelessly stomping over the shards.

He lurks predatorily, leisurely prowling. You found yourself backing away with every painfully calculated stride he made, that brought him methodically closer to you.

He backs you into the glass doors leading to your balcony. The cold glass frosts your skin, an array of goosebumps trickling your flesh, followed by the clatter of your teeth and shudder of your body.

Like a monster, he emerges from the shadows of your apartment, bathing in the pale, sapphire moonlight that bestowed upon him through the double-glass doors. Ominously illuminating his face, that was eclipsed with a ferocious contour that chiseled his features and plagued his eyes with a devilish lure.

You were scared.

"Please talk to me, Ky." You whisper shakily, extending your hands defeatedly in surrender.

His demons were far from residing; they were free. Untamed, vexed, swarming his brain, clouding his morals, engineering the every breadth of what he does next.

His hand outstretches, patches of dry, burgundy blood tainting his knuckles. Callouses housing into the pads of his worn fingers, veins flexing under the nights amorous glow.

Your knees nearly buckle at his proximity, that was congested with the scent of hein that leaks from every part of him, radiating from his every pore. 

His hand engulfs your throat, fingers easing slowly around your neck— before wrenching you hostilely forward. 

His other hand thumps into the glass, just adjacent to your head. He could feel your pulse skyrocketing into the heel of his palm, as he prods it into the lump that gurgles in your throat. His eyes level with yours, just a tantalizing inch away.

Your chin quivers as you crane it, eyes flickering contemptuously around his face. Wheezes spewing from your nostrils, as you try to suppress any form of distress.

His eyes flash to your lips, arching back up to your glossy, petrified gaze.

He smashes his lips into yours; it was an assault, teeth nagging at your lips, tongue nuzzling through your mouth to relish in a dance around yours, lips eloping jaggedly enough to elicit blood. His lips dominated yours, smothering your mouth, that swells with the intensity of the spiteful kiss.

His hand crushes your windpipes, squeezing at a restraint that throttles your oxygen supply. Lips grating feverishly into yours, moving impatiently, un-rhythmically.

"Ky—" your protest is refuted by the demand of his lips, lewdly devouring yours.

"I need you." He groans, husking the words gutturally, letting them grit in the back of his throat and broil at the tip of his tongue. 

His lips lunge an attack on your throat, kissing sloppily, canines piercing through the skin— rousing a gasp out of you. Your fingers skim roughly through his disheveled locks, pants ricocheting from your parted lips, chin craning to allow his face space to nuzzle into your neck.

His libido was fueled by your wordless sanction for his obscene ferocity, spiking through his bones, flaring through his veins, pumping salaciously through his blood. The hint of copper that ghosts his tastebuds spurs him further, as his tongue sweeps over the puffy, bloody welt surfacing on your pulse, that thuds into his romanesque nose like a dangerously unchaste drum.

His lips maneuver to your jaw, biting, snagging, licking, hand reacquainting itself forcefully with your throat. He can feel the way his veins strain and gurgle upon his knuckles, as he squeezes. Squeezes hard enough to pop the blood vessels in his deadly hand.

His vision was blemished a blinding red, ears discerning nothing other than the lethally vigorous flow of his blood. All five senses his body was naturally equipped with were heightened, malfunctioning— only processing the coveting touches he lays forcefully upon your skin, your body, the body that belonged to him, under him, full of him, intertwined with him.

He can't hear your wailing pleas for him to let you go. He can't feel your hands clawing desperately at his wrist. He can't feel the tears that gush and stream down your cheeks, cascading onto his hand, that restricts your airflow with a belligerent grasp.

Pins and needles prickle at his limbs, palm going numb as it encompasses your throat. No longer obtaining the way your pulse pounded into his grip, nor the way it bobbed as you swallowed. All he could feel was the dimming warmth of your flesh, that molded into his grasp as if it was designed for his infliction of pain.

"I need you, sweet girl," despite the barren he can't hear the words he articulated, he could feel the way they flicked off of his tongue with hoarse need and urgency. "I need you."

You wheeze and bleat, thrashing your weakening frame into his, trying with all of the strength you could muster to pry his hands away from your neck. Abysmal stars blot your vision— and through the damaged perception of your murky gaze, all you see are the empty eyes of a frightened boy whose mind had been enflamed by the destruction of his demons. 

They watch as that exuberant light flickers in and out of your fluttering eyes, diminishing, fading, deteriorating with the prolonging of his hold. 

Until abruptly, his hand releases your throat— air punches violently through your lungs, wracking your body, as you stagger to the floor and heave hysterically. Oxygen filters your lungs like a purifier, smothering your lungs with an immense essence of relief.

Kylo had taken a couple steps back.

Vigilantly, his feet shuffle as he tediously backs away, clearly distraught and befuddled. His eyes were mucked with the fury that lingered, fists balling arduously at his sides, bottom lip quivering as he tried to make sense of the situation at hand.

"What happened to you," his voice riddles out like a jumbled, murmured inquest. 

He was merely audible over the thumping of your pulse that reverberates throughout your mind, clogging your ears and swathing your cheeks in a brash humidity. Your teeth clatter, your clammy hands tremble, your body was jittery and uptight.

"What happened?" Kylo croons, eyebrows pinching together in bewilderment, a perplexed crease surfacing between his furrowed brows.

His knees crackle as he crouches to be level with you, elbows perching solemnly on his thighs. His head tilts inquisitively, concern blossoming on his face. "Baby, what happened?" He coos, extending his hand to stroke your cheek.

He recoils with a wince when you flinch at his gesture, the furrow in his brows deepening. 

"Don't do that." His words snide sharply, slicing through you with a venomous edge. 

His hand then forcefully engulfs your jaw, fingers pinching, grip steering your head up to meet his ravenous gaze. You whimper, squirming around with your folded, feeble limbs, feeling bruises label your flesh.

"I said, tell me what's wrong." He demands, softening his domineering tone.

"K-Kylo," your eyes sheepishly flicker to his hand that imprisons your face. "L-let me go, p-please."

He holds you there for a moment longer, honey-speckled eyes submerged in a darkness similar to the depths of the dead sea— a famished, wicked lagoon. It pooled in his irises like a vile wave of depravedness, as those eyes studied your frightened expression.

He lets you go, begrudgingly. 

"The floor is no place for you and the baby," he mumbles haphazardly, more to himself. He grips your forearms with an unintentional firmness that kindles a flare of trepidation through your veins, hoisting you up with a grunt. 

"The baby?" You whisper, words quivery and low with desolation and confusion.

He hums, a mellow smirk toying with his lips, as he guides you leisurely to the couch. Once he plants you there, he kneels, situating himself between your legs. Bloodied, deranged hands slithering up your thighs, a nearly guilty grin plastered on his equally as bloodied lips.

He places a pliant kiss to your stomach, that was still protruding enough to resemble the spot your baby was once festering within. The bump hadn't subsided, and the doctor initiated that it would take longer for your body to recover from the life-altering, earth-shattering ordeal you had endured by losing the baby.

Tears prickle ferociously at your eyes, but you tried in spite of yourself to blink them back, to harness and tame the pure agony that torments your soul at his fragility. His vulnerability.

"She's gonna be my beautiful little angel," he murmurs nearly giddily, smiling into your belly, applying another chaste kiss. "Just like her mommy."

"Stop this." You demand, barking out the words, bucking your hips up and making an attempt at thrashing away from his touch, but his bulky arms embrace your thighs and pin you to the couch steadily. "Kylo... she's gone. You can't... keeping doing this to yourself."

His jaw clenches, and you can see it— that fear that takes shelter in his golden irises, gyrating around them, stirring around in sinister proclivity around his cold eyes.

His bottom lip quivers. Eyes glazing over with a sheen of glossy defeat. "I can't." His words emerge from his lips in a broken, hoarse whisper, low and gruff, lips wobbling.

One perfectly sacramental tear cascades down his cheek, leaving a slick ribbon of grief in its tedious wake. The tear beads at his chin, glistening, dribbling down his neck. His features twitch, dismantled, broadcasting a deadpan look that could only be discerned as numb.

You cup his cheeks, scooping up his face tenderly in your grasp, allowing your thumb to smooth over the wet streak of his tear. Other thumb stroking amiably, endearingly at the apple of his cheek, kneading softly into the flesh that was hot, scarlet and famished with pain.

You brace his face firmly with your daintier hands, fingers tracing benignly at his earlobes, as you bore your potent gaze through his— dewy and uncommonly unassertive.

"Kylo." You affirm. Keeping him enraptured with your solidified stare. "Our baby is gone. She is gone. You need to let her go, my love."

He suppresses a sob, restricting it to the chamber of clustered, forbidden emotions that wreathe in his chest. "I just wanted to meet her," he slurs, burying his face into your lap, fisting your t-shirt in his big, blood-sullied hands, smothering himself with the fabric.

"I know... shh," you coo, feathering your fingers through his disheveled hair, massaging his scalp. "I did, too."

He sighs into you, ingesting the natural scent that clings to your every molecule. Prodding his nose into you, submerging himself in your shirt, embracing it eagerly to his face.

"I thought I would've never felt pain ever again after the way my father destroyed every fiber of me." He admits, words muffled into your abdomen, as he claws at your sides for stability. "But I've never felt a feeling as painful as this."

You nearly implode; combust with the flame of grief and culpability that burns through every crevice of you— but you try with exceptional earnest to maintain a strong facade— he needs you to be strong for him. 

"You would've given her everything that he couldn't give you." You confirm, musing the words peacefully, softly, relaxing under his restrictive embrace, continuing to tousle with his hair.

He nods, releasing a husky whimper, face smushing into your belly, arms looping around your waist and bracing you belligerently to his tear-stricken face.

"You would have given her the love you deserved," you continue timidly, holding his face and removing it placatedly from your belly. You look him dead in the eye. "That you deserve. I love you, Kylo."

You loom over him, thumbs applying pacifying caresses to his cheeks, as you press your forehead into his. You can feel his eyes flutter shut, as you run your nose gently across his, from side to side. He gives you a weak eskimo kiss back, lips brushing yours as his brooding nose drags across yours, back and forth.

"It was me who hurt you." He inquires shamefully, stating it as a knowing implication as opposed to a question.

You pause, noses resting squished together, foreheads plastered to one another's.

He nods to himself in response to your wordless confirmation.

"I'm sorry." His apology synchronizes with the stroke of his thumb ghosting the bruises garnering your throat. "I will be better from now on. I'll stay away. I'll fix this. I'm sorry."

He says, spewing empty, futile, meaningless promises. The type of promise you had grown accustomed to inheriting from him. Yet, you stayed. You absorbed the lies and digested them like they were the truth. And you let his lies envelop you, consume you, eat you from the inside out.

Because you had demons, too.

And they loved the way he hurt you.


End file.
